


and i'll use you as a warning sign

by Nyxierose



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 42,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: Assorted short ficlets and prompt fills from my tumblr, compiled here for sanity purposes. Usually canon'verse in some way, variable ratings.





	1. improbable

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this format has worked great for other ships I've done so now for these babes as well. All of this is originally posted on my tumblr [@electricbluebutterflies](http://electricbluebutterflies.tumblr.com). Compilation title from "I Found" by Amber Run because (1.) I'm a cliché and (2.) hilarious unrelated personal reason. Enjoy, and feel free to hit me up either here or on tumblr with prompts or just general flail about these two precious idiots.

It’s not the _worst_  mission Lucy’s been on, but it’s a damn close second, she can’t help thinking as her feet touch solid concrete again after an uneven landing. Worst one ever is still that time in 17th-century Russia with the frostbite, further details of which she’s mentally blocked out for the sake of her remaining sanity, but upstate New York in 1901 had some unexpected downsides. Like - this is the detail that gets her, the part that would make her swear off the entire era if she were a slightly different kind of person - running several miles in one of the most ridiculous outfits she’s ever worn. And on a probably sprained ankle.

Later, she thinks, as soon as she’s recovered from this fantastic disaster, she is going to tell the rest of the team _exactly_  how she feels about getting stuck on observation duty in any era where she has to wear heels. Her status as a mundane-pretty white woman be damned, there are lines and they have been crossed.

In the background, her partner climbs out and immediately rushes to her side.

Partner. It’s a strange word, stranger still with this arrangement they find themselves in, but Lucy isn’t really sure what else to call the man. Flynn is complicated, generally an asshole, too reliant on his charm and his natural talent with any weapon he can get his hands on, and yet she’s been sleeping with him for the past six months. Lack of options, she’s justified it, and yet-

“Hey. Weight on me. You don’t need to-”

Problem is, despite all of those delightful personality traits, he’s occasionally capable of being gentle. Especially with her, and she reminds herself that that started a solid year before he ended up in her bed. No, even before that, from the very first moment this version of her crossed paths with this version of him. On a personal level, Lucy has never been scared of this man. Pissed off at him, yes; tempted to shoot him, a couple times; but always for objective reasons. Never because he was specifically dangerous to _her_.

Hell, he had her hostage for a week that one time and barely even touched her. Years later, she’s still not sure how he’s got such an existent concept of honor, but it’s been damn convenient at times.

She takes another step forward, puts the wrong pressure on her yeah-definitely-sprained ankle, and hisses. She wants to do this alone, like she always has, but Flynn is right there and looking at her that way he does when she’s being stupid and she can’t help but give in.

Really, an act as simple as letting someone’s arm wrap around her shoulder shouldn’t make her feel this much like a damsel in distress, but she’s _trying_.

“I’m fine,” she hisses.

To his credit, and this is one of the things she’d admit she loves about him if she was confident enough to use the L-word at any point in the next decade - to his credit, Flynn does not question her until they’re safely in the small space that’s been functioning as their bedroom for the past couple months, until she’s seated on the edge of the bed and he drops to his knees to get her shoes off her.

“I could’ve carried you.”

“In front of other people?” Lucy laughs. “We’re not doing that again, not after-”

Her voice cuts off as her left shoe is finally undone and yeah, sprained and bruised and gods only know what else and she is not leaving this bed for a _week_  no matter what other bad things happen and-

“You need anything?” he murmurs, getting back on his feet.

“An ice pack, if you can find one. Please.”

He leans down and kisses her forehead, and it hits her that out of everything that could’ve happened since she was recruited into this insanity three years ago, these quiet moments of domesticity with a man she once hated are the most improbable of all.

“I’ll go look. Try to rest.”

Improbable, and made more beautiful by that detail.


	2. outlive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - returned from the dead kiss.

This cannot be happening again.

Garcia Flynn has buried one wife already - well, that’s a bit of a technicality, but he first took on the unfortunate label of “widower” several years ago. Going through that hell a second time, at a similar set of hands, is unthinkable. Yet here he is anyways, kneeling beside the woman he loves and praying to gods he doesn’t believe in and hoping desperately that Lucy will come through.

She’s almost bled out, though the wound has been closed and bandaged, and her eyes are closed and her pulse is faint. Whatever consciousness is still in there could be damaged, but he doesn’t care. As long as something of her survives, he will stay. As long as-

Her eyes shock open, and she takes several frantic breaths. She’s visibly in pain and he puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her, worried she’ll do too much too soon. Such a fighter, even half-dead and disoriented, and he has never loved her more than he does now.

“Slow,” he murmurs, pulling her into his arms. She can rest her head just as easily on his lap, perhaps more comfortably than the cold concrete floor beneath them, and it’ll be easier to monitor her vitals in this position. “Stay with me, Lucy.”

She whimpers, uninjured hand drifting to the center of the burn on her hip. There will be scars from this and they will not be pretty, and she’s lucky he found her when she did. If he’d been thirty seconds later, it could’ve been worse and-

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He leans down and presses his lips to her forehead, tastes the blood and ash that he will wipe from her skin once the rest of the team finds them, and holds her close. So help him, he will _not_  outlive another wife.


	3. safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - forbidden kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one could be a starting point for a legit AU if y'all like it... just saying...

She knows better.

That’s the phrase that repeats in Lucy’s mind, over and over and over as she lingers in this room, in a glorified storage closet in an abandoned building in a part of the city she knows They have no interest in. She’s good at avoiding risks, yet this liaison... gods, if anyone finds out, They’ll kill her. Wouldn’t be the worst way she’s considered dying, but-

“Any trouble on the way here?”

She whirls around, gives herself a few moments to assess that the familiar voice is attached to the right body. The risks she takes to allow herself this outlet, and still she fears the day They’ll find a way to turn him against her. They’ve tried, she knows, in the series of events that began their spiral towards each other, but there could be worse things, there could be-

“No. Too much else going on. I’m alright.”

His eyes search her body for any new damage and, not finding any, he crosses the space and pulls her into his arms. Doesn’t _do_  anything, just holds her close until their heartbeats and breathing match.

“You could run.”

“They’d track me.”

“I know a place... we could be safe.”

“Not yet, love. Too dangerous.”

She kisses him before he can remind her that her current situation is even worse, taking what she can while she can. Not ideal for either of them, but the most they can manage, physical collision saying things that words cannot.

“You know the rules,” he reminds her as they break for air. She loves that, the gentle reassurance that she has control here and she may stop their activities at any point she chooses and no harm will come to her. No one else has ever been so kind, and that alone has been enough to make her fall for him.

Unspoken choices are made, and his hands slip beneath her skirt and find her wanting. She forces herself to remain silent - as much as she wants to do so many things right now, there are other rules she has imposed upon herself. She does not even let herself think his name, just in case something bad happens to her. Maybe They know she has an outsider lover, but there are no details to be found, there are no-

He lifts her up against the wall and she instinctively wraps her legs around his hips and oh, this isn’t any kind of ideal but it is enough. It is enough, she thinks as he kisses her to keep them both quiet as he fucks her; it is enough, as his body covers hers and she feels so small yet the safest she’s ever been; it is enough, as he whispers words into her mouth in a language she doesn’t know.

All too soon, they fall apart.

He gives her space to compose herself, as always, but he watches her with unfamiliar intensity. Preserving a memory, she realizes as she straightens her jacket, for fear this will be the last time.

“What are you about to do?” she breathes, piecing it all together.

He takes her hand and slips her a folded slip of paper. “Please. Tomorrow night. I’ll keep you safe.”

She decides, in that moment, that she’ll risk it.

“Alright.”


	4. little things (you should know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - “I want you to have this.”

It’s the little things that make Lucy realize she’s not alone anymore.

There’s a routine to her life by now. When she’s on a mission, and she always goes because there _is_  no backup for her role, things are chaotic and she tries not to die while the rest of the team does their thing. When she’s not, in those long stretches of killing time in the new safehouse, she paces up and down hallways or sits outside on the porch - being allowed fresh air in her own timeline is still a novelty, even three months after they were moved cross-country - and shuts herself off. Not much she can do, and everyone else has their own issues apart from her, so she stays out of the way.

Except she’s not alone so much anymore, and though they’ve been dancing around each other for a year it’s still so strange that Flynn actually _likes_  her.

Him being in awe of her is one thing. That’s been the case ever since he became aware of her existence (before she knew of his), and the man doesn’t seem to know the word “subtle” either. She knows that a future version of her is going to loop back and gently take a gun out of his hands, but she suspects his idealization of her involves more than that and she just has. not. asked.

But the affection, the complications, the intricacies of getting tangled up... that’s weird as hell, but who is she to question that either.

(Honestly, Lucy’s amazed by how much of this she’s just _going with_  and not fighting in any form. Maybe she’s shell-shocked enough to let him love her in his detached-but-obvious way, maybe she’s just done with everything, who knows.)

Today, she’s on the porch, curled up on the wood floor with her eyes closed. She trusts the rest of the team to announce themselves if they need something from her - or maybe more like _when_  they need something - and she recognizes the pattern of footsteps and the weight changing as another body sits down next to her. They do this sometimes, linger in silence for hours and it’s enough and too much at once and-

“I... I have something. For you.”

Half on instinct, she shifts her body to rest against his. Whatever this is, she’s not in the mood. “How important?”

“Something you wanted.”

Flynn is an absolutely awful tease sometimes. She knows this by now - it seems to be something he only does with her, which is thoroughly unsurprising - but she still can’t help but get a little annoyed when he baits her for no good reason. That said, she’s curious enough to open her eyes and notice the folded paper in his hands.

“You could just tell me,” she mutters.

“Easier this way, Lucy. You remember how you asked about what happened when I met the... the other you?”

Yeah, damn right she remembers that particular turning point in their relationship and the implications she’s spent the past eight months carefully avoiding. “Oh?”

“I want you to know. It was easier for me to write it down than it would be to say out loud, if that’s alright.”

“Of course it is.” Given she thought even that was impossible...

She takes the paper from his hands and unfolds it, and turns out there’s three pages about what happened. One line in particular, towards the bottom of the first, resonates more than she knows what to do with.

_You wore my ring on a chain around your neck._

How she ends up in possession of something so significant, she’s scared to find out. But she’ll get there, she tells herself. When the time comes, she’ll get there.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she breathes as she re-folds the papers and hands them back. “But you should probably keep this.”


	5. calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - accidental stimulation.

Compared to how Lucy’s used to missions going wrong, well... at least this time they’re not getting shot at, and as far as she knows nobody on her side is bleeding. Yet. There’s still time for that, she thinks as she attempts to run through a back hallway of the Polo Grounds. It is April 1920 in New York, and Rittenhouse has decided to take out Babe Ruth right before he starts becoming one of the most iconic athletes of all time. For what reasons, Lucy has no damn clue, and she herself isn’t even dealing with the designated victim yet because, well...

Okay, she doesn’t even know where Wyatt and Rufus are right now - hopefully _not_  getting chased - and she’s pretty sure Flynn’s natural charisma isn’t gonna fly here. So of course he’s the one she’s stuck with, because even after months of reluctant team bonding she’s pretty sure she’s still the only person he actually likes. And on top of the logistics of trying to herd around someone she has increasingly complicated feelings about, her ankle is probably fucked. So there’s that issue.

She’s trying to keep a brave face, because that is how she deals with her life and because she’d like to get somewhere safe before dealing with extremely worried potential love interest (just thinking those words makes her nauseous), but everything hurts so much. Now is probably the worst time for this issue, but-

“In here.”

Ah yes, because hiding in a storage closet _never_  seems to end badly for them. Great plan. Whatever. If it means she can stop moving for long enough to catch her breath, she does not care.

It’s a tight fit, and she ends up pinned to a wall by necessity. It hits her that she is not anywhere near as terrified as she normally would be right now, and perhaps the warmth of another human body against hers is helping. Best not to think about that. (She _has_  been thinking about it for months now, but she is not going to act on it right now.) Everything hurts, and it is a very small space, and she feels absolutely awful but she’s safe and-

His arms slip around her, hands anchoring on the small of her back. It’s an unusually forward gesture, but she supposes it makes sense under the circumstances and besides, she doesn’t mind at all. If anything, it’s sweet. Flynn has a certain talent for taking care of her, and while she’s not ready to have _that_  conversation yet either, it’s become something she can rely on these past few months. A soft place to land when she crashes, as she’s been doing more and more often as the weight of everything catches up with her, and-

He shifts position slightly, no doubt trying to make her as comfortable as possible, and his leg accidentally ends up between hers and okay that is a distraction she does not need right now.

There are objectively not a lot of layers of fabric between them, and fear seems to have heightened all her senses, and she can’t help the little purring noise she makes as she moves against him to chase the pressure. Bad idea? Absolutely, but she doesn’t care.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I... I’m sorry, I...”

His eyes flick downward, realizing exactly what position he’s put her in, and she’s pretty sure he would recoil in horror if there were any space for him to do so. But there isn’t, so instead a reluctant acceptance. “No intent, Lucy.”

“I know.” She rocks her hips again and yeah, she’ll be able to get off from this. “But you don’t mind.” Not a question.

“Not ideal, but... if it’ll keep you calm...”

“You can say you don’t want me. I’d survive that.”

“I _do_ want you. Not like this, but I want you.”

“Then tell me to stop.”

She expects, almost hopes, that he will - but since when has this man ever just let her be. Instead, he slips his hand between them and lets her grind against that instead.

“Breathe, Lucy. Focus.”

As if that could possibly happen with four thin layers of fabric between his fingers and her clit.

She rests her body against his as much as she can and chases the sensation, the pressure changing as he watches her reactions. When they eventually do things properly - and oh, that’s probably a matter of days now - she has no doubt he’ll be the most attentive lover she’s ever had. This alone is more than she’s used to, the gentleness and determination as he does what he can under the circumstances, and she wishes it would be easier to hitch up her skirt and-

Screw it. They’re already involved. Might as well make it good.

“Want you closer,” she murmurs, inching back so she can deal with layers. It’s not a particularly bad situation, though she decides her panties are staying on because otherwise she will lose them and that is just not worth it, and-

His hand ghosts over her abdomen, then slips beneath the waistband, and she didn’t even realize how wet she was until his fingers are _right there_  and god she’s so close and-

He kisses her as she crosses. Probably just to make sure she doesn’t make unnecessary noise, but it’s still as bizarrely sweet as anything. He works her through the orgasm, then brings her through another because he’s thorough and she wants him and it’s a way to kill time so why not. Who the hell is she to question _any_  of this.

“Thank you,” she breathes as he backs away and she readjusts her clothing. “That was...”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“Didn’t even come close,” she laughs. “I trust you.”

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

She picks up on the sadness in his voice, the raw fear of it. “But it does for you. And for me. I... I’ve wanted you for a while, I guess. Maybe it’s limited options, but there’s something about you, and I...”

“I care about you too.” It’s as much as he’s comfortable saying right now, but she suspects there’s more to it than that. “And I’m glad I could...”

“I’ll return the favor later. Once we’re back home and I figure out if my ankle’s actually sprained or if I just hate running in heels.”

“Whatever you want, Lucy.”

Later, she repeats in her head. She’s going to make him fall apart and it’ll be beautiful. Until then...

“Think we’re safe?”

“Few more minutes. Just in case.”


	6. the right time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things that you were afraid to say.

He loves her. He has for a while now. He will probably die before he says those words in any language he knows.

It’s terrifying, the idea of getting attached to another human being. Flynn has fought the concept every step of the way, every last heartbeat and he fell anyways. How could he _not_? Even separated from the future version of her who looped back to save him - and five years later, he’s still not sure what happens that makes her do that and he’s utterly terrified it’s the most likely option but _god_  that is not a rabbit-trail he needs right now - she is the most amazing person he’s ever seen.

So, he loves her, but he’s a stubborn idiot who doesn’t know how to do feelings (and is well aware of that personality defect) and is not, under any circumstances, gonna do anything about it. Ever.

It is enough to watch her from a safe distance. They are friends, he’s allowed that much, and she ends up in his bed more nights than not for completely innocent reasons and has for intents and purpose done every other thing one might want from a significant other, but they’re not...

They’re not...

It’d be so much easier if he felt right about skipping words entirely and just kissing her, but he’s not prone to that kind of behavior and he knows her history with impulsive physical contact and hell, he’s not totally sure his feelings and desires are reciprocated and he is absolutely not throwing what they already have away.

That’s the issue, he’s pretty sure, when brought down to the core. The fact that what they are right now is so good, friends and partners in the best possible form (even after how they started), and he would hate to lose the best thing in his life.

Unsurprisingly, she pushes him over the edge anyways.

They’ve moved safehouses again, this time to someplace in Montana (possibly? maybe one of the Dakotas?) where they are the only human beings in a five-mile radius, and while he may be used to bitter winters and unreliable heating systems, Lucy is _not_. Thus, she’s ended up spending every possible moment curled under an unholy nest of blankets on his (their?) bed, and she is _still_  freezing. One of those rare times she accepts that the rest of the world’s perception of her as tiny and fragile isn’t without its points, and one of those rare times he has to agree.

He lets her be, curls up in a battered armchair - the creature comforts are a little better at this base than the last two - and focuses on his reading and only checks in on her when he hears noises. Over the past couple weeks, he’s learned that a particular whimper means she wants tea if it’s not a terrible inconvenience, and...

“You love me,” she murmurs as she sticks her upper body out of the blanket nest to take the mug from his hands. Not a playful statement either.

“Maybe.” This is a weird time for this conversation. There will never not be a weird time, but-

“You could just say it sometime. I already know. Only reason someone would be this much of a masochist.”

He does a double-take. “What?”

“I didn’t think you could be this patient with anyone until it happened to me.” Oh god, they are doing this. “And then I figured it out, and everything made sense.”

He isn’t sure how to respond to that. He _is_  pretty sure that his face is an interesting color right now, and his heart rate is not normal, and breathing requires more mental energy than usual, and-

Screw it.

“Yes,” he breathes, taking a couple steps away from her and steadying himself against a wall because he doesn’t know if he can even do this. “I love you.”

“There.” She looks pleased with herself, and he can’t help thinking he doesn’t see that look often enough. “Was that actually that hard?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he growls, immediately regretting the tone but oh the things she doesn’t know and-

“Supposedly emotional things get easier the more you say them. That doesn’t work for me, but...”

“No. I’m not ready.”

“Okay. I can deal. At least... at least I’m not wrong.”

He wants to cross the space again and wrap her in his arms and hold her for a very long time, but that seems forward and he is absolutely not that sort of person. Not now, maybe not ever.

“You’re not wrong. I wish I could’ve said or done something sooner, but...”

“Me too. But I realized a couple days ago that there probably _is_  no right time for this. For us. We just have to take what we can.”

And maybe this is how she becomes the strange angel of his past and her future, he thinks as he is unable to do anything beyond stare at her. Maybe his love is what transforms her. It’s terrifying, but on a certain level it makes perfect sense.

No right time, but maybe not a wrong one either.


	7. sweetest oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - shower sex.

He is so, so tired.

The mission went both longer and worse than expected, four days in Moscow in 1917 and he’s not totally sure what the point was but it is _over_  and somehow they made it back to their own timeline intact. (He’d threaten to stay behind the next time there’s any mission involving Russians, but he knows damn well he’s the only one who can communicate and he’s now seen what happens when _certain people_  try to and as funny as that was…)

As much as Flynn wants to break every personal rule he has and hibernate for the next two days, however, there are other matters to attend to. Namely, the current condition of his significant other.

Lucy isn’t talking about what happened during the twelve hours she got separated from the others, which is never a good sign, but she returned covered in what he dearly hopes is mud and was still in that condition on the return trip two hours later. There wasn’t time for her to clean up, and mud plus ridiculous outfit means she’s gonna need help even though she won’t outright ask for it, and… hey, we-almost-died-again sex is becoming a little bit of a routine at this point, but it’s not something he’s opposed to.

Not yet, though. First, he thinks as the door shuts behind them in the sterile-white bathroom of the current safehouse, first he needs to take care of her.

It’s not that Lucy is fragile - if anything, she’s one of the strongest people he’s ever known. (Strong in the same way Lorena was, and it’s comforting to realize the similarities between the two women he’s loved with his whole heart.) But she has her moments, same as anyone, and he can tell as she falls against him that this is one of them. She’s terrible at asking for things, but she doesn’t need to with him and he loves that and-

“Are we going to talk about this?” he murmurs as he unpins her hair.

“In a week. Maybe. Right now, I need...”

He has never been so content with his masculinity as when he helps his girlfriend strip down. Not a single bit of the ensemble she sheds looks any kind of comfortable, and she audibly sighs as he struggles with her corset. At least that’s the last layer that _definitely_  has mud on it, and at least she can breathe normally now, and-

Okay, there are some disturbing bruises on her hips and thighs and he’s not going to assume anything in any particular direction but-

“I jumped out of a moving train,” she explains, noticing the way he’s looking down at her. “And yes, it hurts, but I’ll be fine and-”

He kisses her, not sure what else to do. It is so tempting to make promises about always being by her side and not letting this kind of shit happen to her ever again, and it’s terrifying that this reality is not a worst-case scenario, but now is not the time to say either of those things. He trusts her, more than he knew he could trust another human being, and he’ll try better in the future but he adores how capable she is on her own.

Perfect, he thinks as they break apart. Absolutely perfect, and for some damn reason she’s stuck around and found light in his darkness.

“I want you,” she breathes.

“I’m not sure-”

“Shut up and trust me. I can handle gentle. I need to feel like a _person_  right now, and I’ve bruised worse than this, and-”

How could he ever say no to this woman, standing naked before him with fire in her eyes. He’ll likely suffer the consequences later, but he can’t imagine this encounter can actually worsen her physical condition. He is good to her, always, as close as he can to what she deserves and yet still not enough and-

“Hey. You can tell me no, but you need to do it for you. Not because of some need to protect me. I’ll be okay either way.”

“I’m not saying no,” he murmurs, holding her close for a moment. He’s still fully clothed, and an idea forms. “Get in the water, Lucy. I’ll join you once I...”

He takes his time shedding his own layers, assessing his body for anything worth nothing. No new scars, nothing that requires attention. Tired and sore in so many places, but rest will solve that. Nothing worse, nothing-

“You okay?”

Hell with this. She wants him, she needs him, he’s getting a little more comfortable with those realities. She beckons him closer, touches him, guides his hands to her hair as she moves against him and oh, he does not deserve a single second of this but here he is anyways.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmurs, abruptly stopping but not separating herself from him.

“Overwhelmed.”

“No pressure. You can just... help me get all this out of my hair. I don’t need anything more than that.”

But she _wants_  more, is the implication, and so does he. This is not at all what she deserves, not the worship and reverence he ought to show her, but it’s what he can offer. He can justify it, he hopes.

He lifts her up, pinning her to the cold tile wall, and thrusts into her. Slow, even, cautious. Enough to sate them, as their bodies inch closer to release. Enough to make her bite his shoulder, and he makes a noise that is not quite a growl and shifts his hips just a little differently and she responds and-

Oblivion, he thinks as he crashes and it is all he can do not to accidentally hurt her. She is the sweetest oblivion he could ever dream of.

“Was that...”

“I’m not in any more pain now than I was before, if that’s what you’re trying to ask,” she murmurs, leaning up and kissing him. “And I feel like a person again. So yeah, it was good.”

“I worry sometimes...”

“You’re determined enough not to _intentionally_ hurt me, and that keeps me safe. I can work with that.”

As they dry off and pull on comfortable clothing, he can’t help staring at her. She stays, she chooses him, she loves him. What did he ever do to deserve this...


	8. unlike dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling prompt - reunion

Going on a mission without him feels weird now. This past year and a half, Lucy has gotten all too used to her partner being there for her at every step - hell, it was the way he rescued her on their very first mission together on equal footing that made her start to realize the potential of them together. Ever since, there’s been no one else she’s wanted more, and that was established well before they became...

Gods, she’s not sure what they are, but there is love and that is enough. They are enough, she reminds herself as she steps back out into her own reality and finds him waiting for her as she knew he would be.

The exact details of why he couldn’t tag along this time were lost on her - something about timelines, maybe, or some other project that required his attention - but it doesn’t matter anymore. She is exhausted, she’s worn heels for two straight days, and she wants sympathy.

“Get me out of here,” she murmurs as she crashes into him. By this point, the rest of the team has... well, not exactly _accepted_  the relationship, but nobody makes comments anymore. Lucy supposes that’s more than she thought she’d get, and she knows what _certain people_  tried to pull a while back, but-

“That bad?” Flynn whispers, kissing the top of her head. She knows she ought to mentally refer to him by his first name by now, given what they’re in the process of becoming, but habits die hard and-

“I need to be held and _not_  talk about it. If that’s okay.”

He reluctantly lets go of her, twirling her around in a way that suggests he’s had a much less frustrating two days, and holds her hand as they walk off towards their space. She’s pretty sure what this looks like to the rest of the team, but it is _not_  going that direction. Hell no. Lucy is not in that kind of mood, and as soon as she gets out of this stupid dress - she hates a lot of fashion eras but fuck the early 1900s in particular - she is going to collapse and not do anything more questionable than kiss her partner a couple times. Maybe. Even that part might be a little much.

“How bad?” he asks once the door is shut behind them.

“Undo dress. I will be a person once I can breathe again.”

From their current position, she can’t see his expression, but the semi-sarcastic comment about undoing corsets as a form of foreplay is implied. He takes his sweet time removing the ridiculous amount of layers she’s got on, and she understands he’s trying to be careful but now is not the right time.

“I don’t know why I ask you for help,” she mutters as she sheds the rest of the ensemble.

He responds by handing her a t-shirt and leggings, respectfully _not_  looking at her naked body for the couple seconds it’s visible. Not that she’d particularly mind, but their moods don’t match and she’s not dealing with that right now and-

“Limited options?”

“Something like that.”

She crosses the space between them, pulling him down for a kiss. So familiar now, yet she doesn’t think she’ll ever get sick of the sweet innocent moments they find.

“Nobody got hurt?”

“None of ours. Don’t care about anyone else.”

“Yeah, you need to rest. That sounds too much like me.”

“I thought partners were supposed to influence each other.”

“The way having you makes me try to be a better person, yes. Not...”

She gives him the point, doesn’t feel like picking a fight as they arrange themselves on their bed. Later, maybe, but not right now.

“So while I was trying to outrun the inaugural Tour de fucking France, what did you do?” she asks, resting her head on his chest. He’s warm and comfortable and smells like home, and she knows it won’t be long before her brain checks out.

“Denise had a few projects for me. She thinks she found a loophole.”

“For?” There are a lot of things that could mean, and Lucy is too tired to figure out which is most likely, and-

“Getting your sister back.”

“That’s supposed to be impossible! Emma said-”

“Emma’s prone to lying. And it’ll require impeccable timing, but I think... I wanted to do this for you, Lucy. Ever since I screwed it up in the first place. And we might have a chance.”

She kisses his cheek, closest part of him she can access, and purrs contentedly. “Thank you.”

“You don’t-”

“I know, love. But still, I...”

There is no need for words after that. She closes her eyes and processes it all. Here she is, nested under blankets and curled up beside a partner unlike anything she ever could’ve dreamed, and the impossible might not be such after all, and it is beautiful and unfair.


	9. natural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "one more chapter".

She should sleep, but her brain won’t turn off.

Lucy is still overwhelmed by the circumstances of her life. If someone had told her at some point that she was going to end up falling in love with someone just as passionate as she is, that she would end up marrying that person and figuring out a strange DIY domesticity with him while each dealing with their own traumas... oh, this is not the future she’d ever had in mind. But it’s her reality now, and she thinks as she slips beneath the blankets that it is utterly perfect.

They moved to the midwest because it was a place neither of them has connections or history, to a college town in Minnesota where there was a minimal-questions-asked job for her and... well, they’ve been here six months and Flynn is still struggling to put down roots, but he’s _trying_. Exactly what he does most of the time, Lucy isn’t quite sure, but she trusts him. He’ll find a way, she knows that, she-

“Something wrong?”

She’s not sure how to answer that question. Honestly, she’s still scared she’s going to wake up tomorrow morning and all of this will be gone. But no, right now everything is good and she doesn’t feel like being a mess.

“Just tired,” she murmurs, lest he get any ideas. Mid-January in a place that gets actual snow is unpleasant for her, and her desire for physical affection is a little lower than she’d like. “Can you turn off the light, please?”

He leans over and kisses her forehead, gentle like she’s still amazed he can be. “One more chapter, darling. Ten more minutes.”

She’ll give him that. She adjusts her body so she’s close to but not quite touching him, leans back, and closes her eyes. Exhaustion will take her even with the ridiculously bright lamp a couple feet away, even with her partner’s subtle noises as he notices various things in the book he’s reading, even-

“I love you.” The words feel natural, rolling over and pressing her lips to his feels natural, all of this feels natural and she loves it. Here, in this unexpected place, she rebuilds. Here, with this wonderful complicated man by her side, she thrives.

“Today was that bad?”

“First day of the semester. Yes, that bad.”

“You love teaching.”

“I will love it more in two years when I’m not the lowest person on the pole.”

He sets his book down on the nightstand and shuts off the light. “There. Better?”

“Yes. Goodnight love.”

He whispers a couple words in a language she can’t offhand recognize, and she is overcome.


	10. numb enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - sex in a crisis situation.
> 
> Emotional crisis counts, right??

She’s falling apart. Again.

Lucy used to be composed, a flawless ice sculpture of a woman, but that was before she got used to watching people die. Before she discovered the dark thing in her soul, and before it learned to feed on everything else she is. Before…

Before she had somewhere to land, she thinks as she walks down the hallway. Not the first time she’s taken this solace, and won’t be the last either.

She supposes it was desperation, the first time - desperation and slightly-drunk brilliance and primal desire. Flynn is feral, in a way that his recent improvements at being a person hasn’t changed, and they’ve been like magnets since the beginning. Fucking him, the first time, was an inevitability.

That was six months ago, and it’s been a routine ever since. When she feels bad in ways beyond words, when she wants to go numb, they crash into each other. She doubts it’s love on her side, doubts it ever will be, but it’s trust and a distraction and that’s enough.

She lets herself in, unsurprised he’s still awake - it’s late, yes, but not _that_  late and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t sleep some nights anyways. More questions she doesn’t ask, more things she’d know if she took up his offer of _staying_  but she always leaves right after they collide. The innocent nights, sure, she’ll fall asleep in his bed and sometimes he’ll be beside her when she wakes and sometimes not, but the less innocent…

“What do you want?”

The same question, the same dance they are learning so well. Lucy can’t help but think she’ll be able to sleepwalk through this entire coping mechanism in another few months.

“I need to go numb,” she replies.

It’s not a perfect solution, they both know that. He’s in love with her - hasn’t said as much, but she knows. Feels it as he crosses the space and wraps his arms around her and _god_ , she wishes that falling apart with clothes still on would be enough but it isn’t and-

“What happened?”

“Nothing specific. Just... you’re all I’ve got.”

Imperfect but enough, she tells herself as he kisses her and they begin their spiral. In the past, with other lovers, she has always been scared of what they might take from her. Here, with this man who is more capable of causing pain than anyone else she’s ever looked twice at, she has no such fear. He could, but he won’t. She’s known that from the beginning, known that since-

“Stay with me,” he murmurs as they undress. “Stay with me, Lucy.”

Out of her mind and into her body. He touches her more than he objectively needs to; she knows what his hands feel like on every inch of her skin, and she is grateful that he performs this kindness for her. She cannot possibly be easy to want, not like this, not when she’s using every bit of energy she has to keep from crying, not-

“At least say if something is too much.”

She won’t. She can’t. She is a sacrifice, she is an open wound, she is a tragedy. There is no such thing as too much for the wreck that she has become.

And yet, as they fall onto the bed, there is nothing for her to worry about. Flynn has always seen the best version of her, aware of her flaws but not fixated on them, and it’s easier for her to accept that when there’s an obvious reward. He hovers over her but waits, drags his finger through her slit slow and waits for her to respond, makes sure that she is as responsive as she’s going to get.

She feels dead. He wants her anyways. She’s not sure which of those statements bothers her more.

She nods, and he enters her. Slow, cautious, unwilling to break her. Aware, in his way, of exactly what she wants and needs. He holds her close as he rolls his hips against hers, eyes closed and no doubt envisioning some less complicated scenario. Oh, she takes so much from him. He’d give her the world if she’d let him, but instead she chooses this state of being even though she knows it wounds and-

“Shhhh. Stay with me.”

She won’t get off. She’s not even sure if she wants to. The collision is enough, the way he kisses her is enough, her name breathed against her neck as he crosses is more than enough.

Numb. She is numb. It is enough.

“You should stay,” he murmurs in the aftermath. “I don’t... I don’t want to have to worry about you tonight, Lucy.”

Every cell in her body wants to run, wants to go back to her room and find some way to punish herself for what she has done, but she forces herself to stay right where she is. “You sure?”

“Easier than... yes, I’m sure.”

And maybe she can do this better, maybe falling asleep next to him isn’t the worst thing in the world, maybe they can turn this into what she wants and maybe she can learn to want it too.

But she is so tired, and so done, and she will deal with all of that in the morning. Maybe.


	11. no falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "I dreamt about you last night".

It’s so strange not seeing him every day. Not seeing all of them, really, but the suddenly empty space in Lucy’s heart and life looks an awful lot like one specific person and she’s not sure what to do with it.

Out of all of them, she’s the most able to move forward. In the grand scheme of things, she lost the least - sure, her career plans have been unexpectedly altered and she’s discovered she likes writing a lot more than teaching, but her body still functions just fine and she hasn’t had to bury a lover (not even temporarily) and she hasn’t had an empire crash down around her and... okay, Denise still got a better deal if she ever forgives herself for the number of her kids’ soccer games she missed, but Denise was more support. Lucy was...

Lucy was the core, for the first time in her life a part of something vital, and now she isn’t.

So she goes on with her life, with a newfound confidence that surprises what few people from her past get to see this reborn version of her, and she misses the rest of the team terribly but does not invade. She does not text anyone unless it’s a “you’re the only six people in the world who know what this feels like” emergency, and those are rare. She does not assume that anyone is obligated to play nice with her just because they’re trauma buddies and were a family made of circumstances, and she’s pretty sure they’ll all lose touch completely once she goes on that final mission in two years.

The final mission. That’s all she’s got to look forward to. The journal she works on every day, making sure it’s absolutely perfect because it ends up saving all of them. A message in a bottle, thrown into the past and placed in hands that are much more comfortable with a weapon. It _has_  to be perfect, and Lucy is scared it won’t be, and-

Screw it, she thinks on a Sunday afternoon when she feels like she’s hit a wall. Least she can do is call the man and run an idea by him before she wastes half an hour writing it down.

The distance between them is weird, unfamiliar as her fingers shake as she scrolls through the contacts on her phone. It’s self-imposed on her part; she knows, has known since the first night she took space that wasn’t hers, that there would be space in his life for her if she just asked for it. Hell, for a while she thought about asking him to come home with her once the aftermath was over with, and she wonders why she _didn’t_ , and-

“Lucy?”

God, she missed his voice. The worry, stronger than she remembers and likely that bad because last time she reached out was at four in the morning and self-destructive. This is so much better, she wants to say, but she wants to say so many things, wants-

“I’m fine,” she settles. “I just... I’m working on the journal. And I want to talk about it.”

“What part?”

“What details did I give about that one time... the mission when I kissed you?”

This, this is the part that scares her. How to reveal the day she realized that a strong part of her is inexplicably very in love with him, and the one day she slipped up enough to do something about it. The biggest risk, because what if she says too much and changes the plan and-

“You’re asking if you mentioned it?”

“Yeah. I think it’s important, but I don’t want...”

“You say something about a distraction, but not what it was or why. I wasn’t expecting _that_ , Lucy.”

There’s something about the way he says it that worries her, and the fact that it’s been over a year since the incident doesn’t make her feel any better.

“You didn’t want me,” she breathes, hoping she won’t cry until this conversation is over. “Understood.”

Flynn mutters something in some language she doesn’t know that, based on tone, is probably a creative swear word. “No. I did.”

“Okay.” She’ll deal with this later. Maybe. Or, more likely, lock it up just like everything else she’s ever felt about this man.

“It wasn’t the right time, but I wanted you.”

“Same.” She should’ve done this in person, she thinks. Should’ve driven over to his apartment - it’s twenty minutes from where she’s living now, she has the address, she hasn’t been there but she should change that - and dealt with this properly. But no, maybe the physical distance is for the best. Keeps her disaster options limited, keeps her from doing things she might regret later.

“I dream about you sometimes. I regret so much. I should’ve... but the timing was never right, and you were too _good_ , and-”

“Me? Too good? _Really_?”

“You saved my life when I had no idea who you were. There’s no falling from that sort of role. I idealized you too much, but even after you became human...”

“And you’re a better person than you think you are.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and she can envision the attempt at composing himself. She knows, has watched so many times, how strange he is about being reminded that he is a _person_. Flawed, prone to impulsive heart-led decisions, but so human and so capable of more than his weaknesses. And she saw that from the beginning, even when she hated him, the raw potential that was always there. She, more than anyone, has had faith.

“Thank you.” Accent strong again, and she is reminded of the only time she saw him cry. She never wants to cause that sort of pain again.

“We should... I miss you. We should do something. Since you’ve decided to stay here and-”

“Yes.”

They’ll figure it out later, she decides. Right now, she has other things to do and a racing heart that needs to calm down.

“I’ll text you, okay? I’ll handle details.”

“Alright.”

No more distance. Now that they _can_ , they will begin again.


	12. here is good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling prompt - in public.

She’s been spending less time alone on the couch, and yet the exact same amount of time watching just about anything on the classic-movie channel. It’s a little complicated, but Lucy is dealing.

She did not ask for any of this, for the other human being who’s decided to join in almost all of her boredom-inspired ideas, yet here he is anyways and they are sharing a blanket and watching what Lucy considers to be the most overrated holiday “classic” of all time. And it’s fine, because for once in their partnership Flynn is the less jaded one, and he is also very warm and doesn’t seem to mind that she’s drifting more and more on top of him.

They’re not lovers - not yet, at least. But he is a safe set of arms for her to land in, the person she trusts above all else, a decent occupant for the other side of her mattress, and not bad to look at either. In a few months, she figures, they’ll probably collide and that too will be okay because it will happen in a very them sort of way and it will be _perfect_. No rush, but she’s accepted the inevitable.

For now, however, for now it’s the middle of December and Lucy can’t remember feeling any _less_  festive than she currently does.

“So this is mandatory viewing?” Flynn growls. He’s not loving it either, halfway through the epic, but the one good thing about _It’s a Wonderful Life_  is it’s about the least awkward movie one could possibly watch in public. That does not make up for its faults, but it’s something, and-

“It’s on,” Lucy sighs. “I do not care.”

She’s become more apathetic lately, as the weight of the world starts to drown her. She’s watched people die - hell, she herself has killed, enough times that it doesn’t totally bother her anymore. She is slowly becoming numb, and this man beside her is the best anchor she has. If she’s honest, the only one.

“We could do something else, Lucy.”

She laughs, highly doubting he realizes the implications of that statement. “Nah. Here is good. I don’t wanna move. You’re warm.”

Here is good, she repeats to herself, with her head on his chest and her eyes almost closed. She’ll fall asleep before the movie ends, and he’ll probably carry her back to their bed - gods, this weird platonic domesticity they’ve fallen into is so beautiful - and she will wake up in similar position but much more comfortable. She wants all of that so badly, she wants-

“Lucy?”

“Yeah?”

He tilts his head and kisses her cheek, and if this is his version of a forward gesture then she doesn’t mind _at all_.

“What was that for?” she murmurs.

“I thought...”

“I don’t mind. I’m just wondering.”

“I wanted to.”

For one so impulsive, he’s had a lot of restraint with their situation and she admires that. “Okay.”

“Are you... did I cross a line?”

“Not at all.”

She turns and presses her lips to the curve of his neck, figuring that’s fair game, and oh she could get used to the taste of his skin. Then, because she can and she knows it will be appreciated, she leans up and kisses him as properly as she can.

His hand is in her hair _anyways_. She’s mostly on top of him _anyways_. For a few sweet moments, the fact they’re in a public space doesn’t mean a damn thing.

And then it does, and she pulls away, and her heart races.

“We could continue that elsewhere, Lucy. If you want.”

“Do you want?”

“I think we’re obligated to finish watching this movie.”

“We don’t _have_  to...”

His arms wrap around her waist, tethering her. “Afterwards, okay?”

“Okay.”


	13. undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "moan my name as you come".

Flynn is, it turns out, every bit as good in bed as she’d imagined.

Not that Lucy will admit to the daydreams that preceded her current situation, not that she will _ever_  admit that she has wondered about the realities of getting entwined with this man since the moment she met him. Even when they were on different sides (back when she was on the wrong side), she wondered. He is tall and built for war, and it was so easy to get lost in the idea of him covering her, protecting her even in a most intimate moment.

Right now, as he tries to unhook her bra and she laughs because of _course_  he has trouble with modern lingerie, she’s not so sure about protection. That will come later, in the aftermath, when she decides to stay in his space like she has every night for the past six months. Right now, she’s a little busy with want.

“Everything alright?” he murmurs, low and dark and his accent stronger than usual. She knows, is well aware from their few previous encounters, that he gets damn near unintelligible when lust takes over. Not that she minds. It’s kinda hot, the way he goes almost nonverbal when he’s fucking her. Reminds her how much she trusts him - how much they trust each other, really, but at least _she_  can manage complete sentences unless she’s on the absolute edge, and-

“You could just let me undo it,” she replies, her hands moving from their current place on his hips and up to her problematic undergarment. “I don’t expect-”

“I can handle the things you wear on missions, but this is-”

“I’ve got it.” She leans up and kisses him as she pushes the straps off her shoulders and throws the bra aside. “There. Better?”

“Yes.”

His hands cup her breasts, fingers tracing spirals with no real intent. It’s been two days since their last mission, and they both expect quiet for the next week or so while both sides regroup. For once they came out in better condition - that’s been happening more and more lately, but coming home without anyone bleeding all over the Lifeboat is still strange by Lucy’s standards - and this rest, however long it lasts, is deserved. The alarms could sound at any time, they both know that, but-

“Want you,” she breathes. Two little words should not feel so brave, three months after the first time they did all of this, and yet Lucy is still not used to allowing herself to feel things. Everything else she’s done on this kind of desire has ended badly. She knows this won’t.

It can’t, she tells herself. Too much in play, too much beyond physical desire. And yet that desire is _there_ , and she is falling apart in the best way in the hands of someone who enjoys making her feel good. He’s attentive, even now that he knows what he’s working with, and he responds to her so perfectly. There is absolutely no future for either of them after this love, and yet-

“May I?”

His hands are at the waistband of her leggings, asking permission for the slightest touch. She nods, and oh she is getting used to the sensation of his fingers pushing her remaining clothing out of the way. She steps out of the leggings and underwear, and she is vulnerable and cold as she collapses against him for a moment but there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. Here, safe, with him. Yes.

He hesitates again, and she curls her fingers around his wrist and puts his hand where she wants it. So instinctive to shift her body against his, chasing pressure. He makes a low sound as his fingers drag through her slit - she’s well aware how wet she is, but watching him react is satisfying. The littlest things overwhelm him, and while she knows he’s come so far at seeing her as a human being, sometimes…

Somehow, she ends up on the bed behind them. Somehow, she’s barely aware of this detail, his remaining clothes are shed. He hovers over her and she pauses for a moment and stares. She’s learning his scars, pressure points, everything. (She wants a lifetime of exploring this man, but she’s far from ready to say that out loud.) She wants, she needs, she-

“Still with me?”

Gentle as ever, and she pulls him down for a kiss as an answer. “Yes,” she breathes against his lips. “Please.”

He is cautious, but not unnecessarily so. More aware that he is twice her size and on top of her, and she’s not sure how he balances his weight without hurting her but somehow he does. His thrusts are slow, careful, completely aware of her. His hands on her hips, his mouth pressing little kisses all over her face. How lucky she is to have this, to have him, to have-

“Garcia,” she breathes as he hits a particularly good spot inside her. She rarely if ever uses his first name, but there are some moments she feels there is no choice and-

It has an effect, though she did not intend any such thing. He is still learning her, perfect instincts be damned, and he takes the hint and repeats the angle over and over. She is overcome, eyes closed, infinite and undone.

He follows, as she comes down from the high, and even in that state is aware enough to roll their bodies and make things safer for her. They collapse against each other, exhausted, and she knows she ought to reach for tissues to clean them up but she doesn’t want to and-

“Stay,” he breathes as her body shifts around his.

She rests her head oh his chest and listens to his heartbeat even out. She’ll fall asleep like this, and wake up alone because she always sleeps later and he likes to bring her coffee in the mornings. Such a routine they’ve developed, and so much further to go.

“Yes,” she murmurs.

He kisses her forehead as he reaches for blankets, she closes her eyes, and she is again undone.


	14. beautiful mundane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - everyday magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into semi-cute holiday fic because... dammit, I have THOUGHTS and this is the ship I retreat to when I'm dealing with family drama and... honestly this doesn't have a whole lot to do with the prompt, but here we are.
> 
> Whatever you celebrate, I hope it's a good one. <3

She doesn't know how to move forward, not really.

Lucy is not anywhere near as adaptable as she likes to think she is. She can fake it for a while, if forced to by circumstances, but she is by nature the sort of woman who would've _liked_ to put down roots a decade ago and instead she got… all of _this_ , so many things she doesn't even have words for, and in the center of it all a chaotic anchoring love that she never, at any point, attempted to plan for.

So, she panics a lot and pretends she's fine and tries to get her life as together as possible because she is thirty-freaking-six and she ought to be thinking about _futures_ and more mundane things than how to apologize the next time she wakes her boyfriend up in the middle of the night by kicking him too hard because her brain's a dangerous place when she's not in control, and she fails harder than she cares to admit, but she is _fine_. She has to be fine.

(She is not at all fine.)

It's the sort of situation that is made worse by her coping mechanisms, the decisions she makes in misguided effort to make herself feel better. The decisions that landed her in fuck-nowhere Minnesota, small college town where her pedigree was enough to get her work and the phrase "federal government security clearance" prevented further questions. Dragging the boyfriend along for the ride - and she hates that word, "boyfriend" is something you call your partner when you're in high school, they are _far_ too old for such terms and yet - was an accident. Or maybe not. She doesn't know anymore.

What she does know is that at some point unknown to her, Garcia Flynn decided that the entire rest of his life was going to be tangled up with hers to whatever extent she'd allow, and he damn well wasn't letting her move cross-country _alone_ , and they've figured everything else out from there.

It has been almost a year since everything ended, for lack of a better term. Winter in northern Minnesota is a hell Lucy could not have prepared for; like every other modern phenomenon, global warming hasn't even heard of this part of the state. She made her choices with the intent of hiding, and from that perspective she did well, but the tradeoff of being physically miserable for half the year may or may not be worth it. Ah well. She will die here, she's decided, after thirty-odd years of giving her blood to a small but functional department, and she will die the happiest human popsicle in the history of the world.

She is very thankful for winter break because it means an entire month of very little to do and thus a good amount of time she can spend buried under blankets and not dealing. There are personal catastrophes yet to be had, and she always gets contemplative this time of year, but it feels so good to not have to worry. For once in her little life - for the first time in said life, if she's honest with herself - she is safe and taken care of and well aware that she will turn out okay if given enough time.

And, right now, beautifully distracted.

Lucy is still hesitant about domesticity, still slightly uncomfortable sharing all her spaces with another human being, but Flynn fits neatly where she allows him. His body wraps around hers perfectly at night, he takes on most of the household tasks on instinct, and he is the one who's decided this godforsaken bungalow needs to look festive. It's overkill, as they're the only two people who'll see the results (she supposes she'll text a few pictures to Jiya depending on how it turns out but that doesn't count), but it's something for him to do and she realizes that importance and-

"Little help? Please?"

In typical fashion, because the man has never done anything halfway in his life, he's elbow-deep in a knot of lights and apparently gotten himself stuck, god only knows how. The old ladies who run the charity resale shop adore him - they all think he's from their grandmother's respective home country, whichever that may be, and he hasn't had the heart to tell them all wrong - and thus he's ended up with an unusually eclectic array of decorations. This is the third strand of lights he's fought today, and Lucy finds the whole situation far more entertaining than she probably ought to. _Good_ girlfriends, says a voice in her head that sounds all too suspiciously like her mother, do not enjoy watching petty misfortunes. _Good_ girlfriends don't-

"You could let go," she murmurs, making no move to leave her nest on the couch.

"Or you could help…"

"This is much more fun," she decides. And it is, it is the best thing that's happened to her in years because it's so uncomplicated and _normal_ and oh how she missed that concept and-

"You don't like this time of year."

"Not at all. Cultural bullshit is… I am okay with not having a family. The one I had was a nightmare. Eleven months of the year I think I could be okay with that. But right now…"

He lets go of the lights, lets go and gently sets them on the floor and walks over to sit with her. And this, she thinks, is why Flynn is actually good at this whole romantic relationship thing. He knows her too well, and sometimes that's the best thing in the world, and-

"It's a project," he murmurs. "I need a project. Just think of it like that."

"I don't mind. You're not the problem."

"Do you need…"

"I'll say if… no. This is fine."

She leans over and kisses him and thinks, as his hands do that thing in her hair, that she easily _could_ get used to all of this. A few years down the line, perhaps, in the beautiful mundane future ahead of her where all of this feels like home. Five years from now, maybe, she'll even help. But not yet.

For now, Lucy is content to burrow under blankets again and watch her partner swear at a broken strand of lights in four different languages, at least one of which she doesn't even recognize. This is okay too.

"We'll figure this out," he reassures her once he gives up. "Can that be enough?"

"I want it to be."

Against her better judgment, and what little remains of her once-impeccable self-preservation instincts, Lucy pushes up out of her nest and walks over to the boxes of someone else's family heirlooms. "Want help?"

Flynn looks down at her like she's made out of starlight - like he does most of the time, admittedly, but even more so when the woman he loves decides to be brave.

"I think there was an angel in one of these boxes somewhere…"


	15. perfect distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling prompts - in the dark + in bed.
> 
> Pre-relationship, because emotionally conflicted Lucy is one of my favorite things.

She doesn't want to be alone tonight.

Lucy has tried, over the past few months, to stay functional on her own. She numbs her emotions in ways she likely shouldn't, or else lies on her bed in the new safehouse and drowns in them. No midpoint between oblivions, and she hates herself for it.

But tonight is too much for either option to be sensibly enough, and so she takes a more dangerous route.

Objectively, she knows, it _isn't_ dangerous. If she's honest with herself, Flynn is the only person on the team she actually _likes_ right now and she knows damn well that's mutual. They bring out… perhaps not the absolute best in each other, but their dynamic is powerful. And he's kind to her, beyond the basic expectations of "play nice because small spaces suck _without_ petty catfights", and she suspects there are more feelings in play on his side than he's going to admit within the next decade. She sees the way he looks at her when he thinks she's otherwise distracted, like she's some kind of goddess, and she can't say she minds.

And besides, she enjoys their conversations and it's not like this would be the _first_ time she showed up at his door. Less pretenses and safety nets, this time, but she trusts him enough.

She knocks on the door, and he opens it just enough to give her a slow once-over before stepping back and letting her in. She is not in visible pain and no alarms are going off in the background, and she supposes he's more surprised than anything else right now. Even though this isn't the first time she's sought some kind of solace in his spaces, it's still new enough to scare him, and-

"Can't sleep," she shrugs. "Figured you'd…"

She doesn't want to talk, not yet. She will later, perhaps, but right now she is comfortable enough to sit on his bed and appreciate this small moment of being wanted.

To her surprise, he sits down next to her. In the past, they've kept perfect distance - one of them on the bed and the other on the battered armchair on the other side of the small room, close enough for conversations but too far for holding hands. She's not sure where these physical boundaries originated, and she remains neutral on them, but-

"What's wrong, Lucy?"

Nothing's wrong, she wants to say. Nothing's wrong, but nothing's _right_ either, and she worries where that might lead her. If perhaps this very situation is a result of that uncertainty; if falling any closer might be self-destructive. She could turn her head and press her lips to his and perhaps find some kind of light; she knows, though she's months from fully dealing with it, that he would not find her lacking as every other lover has. She could, but she can't. Not yet.

"Just can't sleep," she repeats, wanting it to be enough.

They sit in silence for a while, and at some point she decides to rest her head on his shoulder because he's solid and warm and his arm slips around her, hand gentle on the curve of her waist, and it hits her that this is the most physical contact she's had with another human being since things she'd like to pretend never happened and _that_ is enough to make her start crying.

She hates showing emotions in front of other people. She was trained not to from an early age, and she knows now _why_ that was, and there is a strange comfort in the fact that out of everyone currently in her life, Garcia Flynn has seen the absolute worst of her on the most occasions and still, for some unknown reason, probably loves her.

Love. Could she love him, someday? She's not sure, she's not ready for that crisis, she's not-

"I'm here," he murmurs, an unspoken question between them.

She nods between sobs and he takes that as permission to maneuver her body. Cautiously, he shifts her so she lies on the bed and he lies beside her, and he pulls her most of the way on top of him and wraps his arms around her and it's far too much contact and everything she wants and-

"I'm here. When you're ready."

Oh how oblivious he is to all she's thinking right now that could be covered by that statement. Or maybe he _isn't_ , maybe he knows damn well that she's seen right through him and figured out that there's a deep protective kind of love waiting for her whenever she heals enough to want it, and hell, she's not sure she cares whether he knows. She's too wounded to think about attachments just yet, and their current level of physical entanglement is the absolute most she can handle for a while yet, but she feels a flicker of want all the same.

They could be good for each other, once they each heal a little more. They already _are_ , but they could be so much better.

"Can I stay here?" she asks. That had been her intent from the beginning, but she feels she ought to ask before she closes her eyes and takes more space than she should.

"Of course. Whatever you want."

From anyone else, Lucy would hate that phrase. From him, it's as weirdly comforting as anything else and she kinda loves it.

One of his hands separates from her body just long enough to turn off a lamp behind them, and it hits her just how strange this situation is for her. In almost total darkness, on someone else's mattress, seeking warmth from someone who constantly surprises her. And yet at the same time, it's the best she's felt since her world was torn apart.

She could make a life with this man, she thinks as she distracts herself with the sound of his heartbeat. If they are given a chance, if they survive their war, she could make a life with him. She wants to.

"Rest," he murmurs. "I've got you."

And for once in her life, Lucy Preston does not apologize for anything.


	16. not alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling prompts - while someone's crying + out of necessity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-relationship Garcy is honestly my favorite. There's just so much that could HAPPEN.

Lucy is starting to hate certain parts of the routine. Some much more than others.

The team is in 1942 London, which means there are about a thousand things that could possibly be going on, and thus they've split to try to cover more ground. Which, in turn, means she's with Flynn for two reasons - putting the least physically capable person with _that_ makes a certain amount of logical sense, and even after the various bonding activities of the past few months and the generally-less-tense atmosphere of recently, she's still the only person in the world that man actually likes. And she doesn't exactly mind. Not only does he compensate for her lack of ability in a fight, but he's charming enough to talk their way out of almost anything.

 _Almost_ anything. But not breaking and entering in some lesser office building that has made Lucy hate every bit of WWII-era British bureaucracy in the half-hour they've been looking for a file that may or may not exist, and thus the usual routine of running for their lives. Lucy is _really_ starting to hate certain parts of the routine.

She knows where this ends before it does. Their strategy, having done this a frightening number of times in similar eras and environments, is traditionally to hide in the nearest storage closet until enough time has passed that whatever passes for security has gone off and found some other minor crisis to wrangle. The next half-hour or so is not going to be pleasant for her, but at least they've done this enough to know how it goes.

And sure enough, Flynn twirls her around and before she can process anything she's in complete darkness with only his hands in hers to guide her spatial awareness. Routine, but that's no kind of comforting right now.

Lucy has learned, over the years, that she's not claustrophobic in a huge overall sense. Only bad about spaces she can't get out of. Losing control is the trigger, not being reminded of how small she actually is. She runs through all the things she knows to focus on, but none seem helpful. For the next however-long, she's in a very small space whether she likes it or not. And she breaks accordingly.

She is thankful, as she starts crying and instinctively falls against her partner, that this is not a major decade for eye makeup. It's a weird thing to fixate on, but as opposed to having a panic attack it really isn't that bad, and-

"May I?"

His voice is low enough that she barely hears it, and she nods and hopes the change of pressure against his chest is a clear enough consent to whatever idea he has.

Said idea turns out to be shifting their positions a little bit, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Not the first time they've done such a thing - there was that night a couple weeks ago, in the middle of a month-long dry spell at the safehouse, when she got drunk and asked him to dance with her and was pleasantly surprised when he went with it - but the first with her emotionally compromised. And she finds, as his hands anchor on her back, that she likes it.

There is a comforting solidness to this man. She's known that for months, since the dark time she sought him out in the middle of the night because he seemed like the only person who'd understand how lost she was. She has watched him use that solidness in other ways, against her better judgment become fascinated with the ways in which his body is a weapon, but she's starting to think of him like fire. It can burn you, yes, but it can also keep you warm enough to keep you alive.

He is fire, she thinks as she fixates on his breathing, and one way or another, she will burn.

There's a gentle intimacy in the way Flynn holds her, enveloping her body with his. Perhaps she ought to be scared of this too, yet another small space she has no easy way out of, and yet-

And yet, as one of his hands reaches up to cup her face and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, she has never been more fearless.

She is so small, in this dark storage closet on the third floor of a building that will be blown up next week along with everything else in a two-block radius, but there is a safety in it. The same safety she finds in this relationship that is not quite love but could be, given a little bit of time. There's no one else she'd rather be here with, she knows that much, and-

"I think we're safe," he murmurs, but he makes no move to let her go just yet.

"Another few minutes," Lucy decides. She turns her head to kiss the palm of his hand, because she's feeling brave and she's curious where the imprint of her red lipstick will end up before he fully notices it's there. "Just in case?"

"Are you sure? I know… I know this isn't ideal for you…"

"It's okay. I'm not alone."

He shifts their position so her head is neatly over his heart, and she fixates again. Comforting solidness, all the comparisons to trees well-deserved, and more gentle with her than she knows what to do with. She's so lucky.

"No," he breathes, like he wants to say something brave but not yet. "You're not alone."


	17. nothing else matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling prompt - reunion.

Three days. Three days they are separated, three days he's stuck in the main timeline while the rest of the team does god-knows-what that he wasn't allowed anywhere near for some reason he expects will be total bullshit when he finds out later. Three days of worrying about _her_ , because apparently he does that now, to the point where he barely sleeps.

Flynn knows better than to get attached to another human being - he is still convinced he's cursed, everything he touches winds up dead or on fire, what makes this woman any different - but it's happened anyways. Some dangerous combination of stubbornness and desire, pulling him into her orbit all too easily. He needs something to fight _for_ ; she needs someone consistent, and he can be that. A safe place to land if she decides she wants that, and until then the only person who is on her side above all else.

But that will all happen once she's back here, safe, where she belongs.

The whir of the Lifeboat landing snaps him out of his spiral, and he takes his place against the far wall and watches and waits. Lucy is the first one out, as usual, and she looks like she's had an equally long three days but no visible injuries and that shouldn't make him as happy as it does and-

"So what project did Denise have you on?" she asks, walking over to him. From her movements alone, he can tell that the mission went well enough. If anything had gone dramatically wrong, he'd know it by now, he'd see it reflected in her body, he'd-

"She didn't. I… I had hoped you'd have an explanation for…"

"Nope." Lucy rolls her eyes, like she's frustrated but doesn't know the words for why. "I'd assumed there was something that needed to be done here, but… guess not."

"Anything happen that I should be aware of?"

"Not that I saw. No damage actually done, practically a false alarm."

"Good."

He's not completely sure what their physical boundaries are, if they ought to have that talk just like the other ones they're avoiding about the shifting status of their relationship, but he feels safe enough to step forward and wrap his arms around her. Three days he did nothing but worry, but she's safe now and next time they decide to leave him behind he is _going_ to get some kind of an explanation so help him and-

"Nothing happened to me," she murmurs. "Nothing that justifies your paranoia." Annoyed, but there's a certain affection in her voice and oh let him hope and-

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Nice to know someone actually likes me."

He's not sure _like_ has been the right word for it for a while now, but he's in no mood to fight her. "This okay?"

"Everyone else is going to be distracted for a bit," she breathes. "Rufus… may have decided that the middle of a battlefield in 1944 was the right time to propose."

"May have?"

"Absolutely did. So that's a thing. Nobody's going to care what I do for a while."

Flynn knows she doesn't mean all that statement could imply, but it warms his heart all the same. "Am I expected to go over there and…"

"If you want. But this is better."

"You pick the strangest times to take what you want."

"And you don't mind at all."

If he was braver, or more convinced that the rest of the group is paying them absolutely _no_ attention, he'd kiss her right now. He's thought about it for months now, the right way to lean down and show her what he feels for her, but this doesn't seem like the right moment. Soon, but not now.

"You're safe, Lucy. Nothing else matters."


	18. live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "I shouldn't be doing this".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a gifset of The Kiss (from the "movie" that I am otherwise completely ignoring the existence of) and decided I wanted to come up with a way better context for that collision and emotional tone and... this happened.

She's done with waiting around.

They're four days removed from their most recent mission, which means the various bruises she collected this time have begun to fade and the general aura of boredom is starting to settle across the safehouse. Lucy is usually the most content with these pockets of quiet they get, but even she has limits and one of them got found during the last mission and-

Shit, _normal people_ don't figure out they're in love when their partner gets shot in the leg, but since when has her life qualified as any kind of normal. At least the injury was minor enough that he's functional, will be functional if the alarms go off any minute now, but she still realized the state of her heart as she watched him fall to the ground and-

Screw it, she decides. She's done waiting. Time to live while she can.

It's easy enough to let herself into his room, routine enough that he doesn't so much as turn his head at the soft click of the door behind her. Lucy is smart enough to seek comfort where she can, and Flynn is the right combination of lonely and damaged enough to offer it. She suspects he cares about her far more than he's able to admit just yet, the odds good enough that what she's planning will work out, but she would be alright staying where they are. The man has put up with far more of her complications than makes any logical sense, and she adores it, and-

"You okay?" she asks, because it's not like him to be quiet this long. She's close enough to touch, waiting for some kind of permission, not sure she needs it but even less sure what would happen if-

"I am," he replies. "But you are not."

He's seen right through her since the moment she met him, and even allowing for the advantage he had at the time, it's still a power no one else has had with her. It was, as much as she hates to admit it, the first thing that made her wonder what kind of future they might have.

"Do you ever wonder what happens to us if we win?" she asks. It's a neutral enough starting point, a question she's asked herself far too many times lately.

"I don't think I'll live that long."

Unusually vulnerable, and again she worries. She knows the odds, knows that his combination of sacrificial and stubborn _isn't_ likely to survive this kind of war, but what bothers her most is the way he's accepted it. He's faced down his own mortality enough that he doesn't care anymore, and she wonders if the problem might be he's got more than enough to die for but not enough to live for.

She wonders, hopes she can change that. Hopes she can be enough.

"You have to," she breathes, bracing herself for what she's about to do. "I need you too much." And then she closes the distance and kisses him.

She tastes the shock on his lips, the half-second of terror as he processes what exactly is happening, and she's about to break away when one of his hands tangles in her hair and oh, maybe this isn't the most romantic first kiss she could've hoped for but it doesn't _need_ to be. It is _them_ , in all the ways, and she feels an unspoken tension leave her body as she deepens it.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she murmurs when they break for air. "I know… you are _everything_ I was ever taught to avoid. But that's bullshit, all of it. I want you. That's all that's supposed to matter, isn't it? I want you like I didn't know I _could_ want, and-"

"Lucy. You don't have to-"

"I _want_ to," she hisses, and she feels some kind of fire taking over every cell of her body. "I want to do this. Before we both get killed or worse. While we're still alive enough."

His hands cup her face, gentle as he ever is with her because somehow he is the one person who's thought of her as an appropriate level of breakable, and he kisses her and she knows without words that he wants this too. Perhaps for different reasons than she does, perhaps the exact same. They don't need to talk about it; she hopes they don't, wants that explanation to stay unhurt.

"This isn't right," he breathes, still so close that she feels the words as much as she hears them. "You deserve-"

" _Fuck_ what I deserve. At least I know you'll still look at me the same in the morning. That would be an improvement."

She's bitter and bleeding and she wonders offhandedly how much of a turn-off that would be for anyone less damaged, and again she is thankful for the choices that have brought her here. His scars match hers almost perfectly, and they will be alright in the aftermath, and-

"You deserve more than this."

"I really don't."

They crash into each other then, and she decides she has a thing about his hands as he undoes her blouse. If things were different, if they'd somehow met in her old life before everything went to hell, she doubts she would've noticed him. But she's become a different woman over the past two and a half years, and she values different things now, and right now she needs the solidness of him clashing with how small and broken she is and-

"Stay with me," he murmurs. She's down to bra and underwear; she's not totally sure how that happened, but he's still looking at her like she's glowing and she supposes that's a good thing. So much about this encounter is unfamiliar, but she supposes she'll get used to all the details soon enough and-

At some point, around the same time his body covers hers, she starts crying. She's not sure why, not sure if it's a good or bad thing. She is overwhelmed, but she always has been with this one and there's a safety in it as she leans up and kisses him. Even when she didn't like him, even when she wanted him dead, she trusted him. Now, even more.

She closes her eyes and lets their collision be enough, and she finds there is no need for words. Flynn has, after all, paid cautious attention to every detail of her since their paths crossed. It's only natural that some of that crosses over into the current moment, and he finds the right ways and places to touch her with what seems like little effort. If this happens again, if she allows herself to lie with him enough that it becomes a pattern, she expects she'll do the same. She has little energy for it right now, too fixated on her own sensations, but-

"Are you…"

She's pretty sure she knows what he's asking, and equally sure she saw a condom during one of the brief moments she had to open her eyes, but she's still thankful he asks. "I have an implant. Got that right before things went to hell, so… I'm good another year, I think."

"Alright."

His hands find better places on her body, and she is undone. Another few shifts of his hips and he is as well.

For what feels like a few minutes, Lucy lies still. Eyes open now, yet motionless as her lover deals with their aftermath. She's not sure what she expected beyond not this, and-

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I'm not used to actually being wanted," she mutters too quickly.

They've talked about her past, her string of past lovers who all seemed to only choose her because they couldn't have the person they actually wanted. She knows this here is different, but that makes it _worse_. The fact that for once in her life she's no consolation prize is… honestly terrifying, in a way she's not sure what to do with, and-

"We don't have to talk about it, Lucy."

"We don't have to talk about it right now," she corrects. "But in a few days, once I'm not feeling it anymore, we do."

"We don't-"

"You don't do casual sex." That is _not_ a conversation they've had, more a detail she's pieced together from other fragments, but she knows she's right. "And I'm not fond of it. But we… happened, I guess. And I don't know where we go from here."

"What do you want it to be?"

"I'm not sure yet. You have any ideas?"

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "I want… I want to be able to kiss you sometimes. And hold you when you fall apart. We can figure out the rest as we get there."

"So I'm that bad in bed," she mutters. "At least you're honest about it."

"No, not like… more… I don't want to pressure you. I want you to-"

She kisses him because she's not sure she can handle this conversation, and it feels so natural to curl up around him and let herself be overcome, and she starts crying again, and-

"Shhh. I won't hurt you."

She knows that. She's known it from the first time she yelled at him, which she supposes is a weird time to figure out that someone isn't a personal threat but ah well. But hearing the words still feels nice, and being held still feels nice, and she can get over it.

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Letting me in."

He doesn't answer, just holds her a tiny bit closer, and she decides she never wants to leave. As long as she lives, she will stay here, just as stubbornly as he has.

As long as she lives, she will want this.


	19. pomegranate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "wanna go grab a drink?"
> 
> Sequel to "no falling" (chapter 11 in this compilation).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, sometimes the mythology references just write themselves...

It's been almost six months since they've seen each other. Self-imposed as the distance is, Lucy is well aware that it takes two people to avoid each other so creatively and Flynn is equally responsible for the situation. If he'd reached out, she would've said yes and gone with whatever plan he could've come up with.

But he didn't, and she did, and that leaves them meeting up for drinks at a bar midway between their respective homes that she hopes will be quiet enough on a Thursday. It's not _technically_ a date, but it _is_ the first time they've seen each other since feelings were unexpectedly confessed, and… if this ends in physical entanglement, she won't complain.

At the moment, however, she's ten minutes early and wondering if the dress she's wearing is too much and-

She sees him before he sees her. It's inevitable, she realizes that - the man is a well-built tree and sharply out of place in the current environment - but her heart still does a weird skip thing as she processes that yes, the person walking her way is the one she wants. He looks well, like he's slept multiple nights in the past week, and it hits her just how much she's missed him. Six months was too long, she decides. Going more than a week apart was too long. She's not doing this again.

"You look…" His eyes wander, taking her in like she's something beautiful and inhuman and he's not sure where to start. "It's good to see you, Lucy."

"Good to see you too." She wonders now why she decided to meet up somewhere public, but she knows herself too well, knows what she might do alone with him behind a locked door. This is much safer. "Get me a drink?"

"Any preferences?"

"Surprise me."

He walks off and she stares, and yeah this definitely counts as a date. Most nervous she's been around someone she's attracted to since… honestly, she doesn't think she _has_ been this nervous around a potential love interest. Which is silly, she knows that, Flynn has put together her broken pieces so many times and she trusts him more than anyone else in the world and-

"Here."

The drink he offers her is a familiar shade of dark red, and she takes a sip and oh, there's something beautifully ironic about him of all people offering her something pomegranate-flavored. Well, she supposes the parallels are a little too obvious at times, but-

"Thank you."

"Is that alright?"

She nods, takes another sip. She'll stop after this, she decides, or else she'll get talkative like she usually does when she drinks and she is _not_ having one of those spirals in public, so help her. Not at all a good idea. But the rest of this isn't a good idea either, and here she is anyways.

It's so easy to talk to him. She missed that, the comforting patterns they fall into so easily. At first it's just formalities, the kind of things one has to get through after their kind of distance, but then he starts talking about how unexpectedly boring private security work is and she wonders if she could ask him to come home with her, if maybe he could stay, if-

"And you? Adjusting…"

She takes that as her cue to talk about the book she's writing on the Salem Witch Revolt, because re-learning the biggest change she caused is fascinating, and the research trip she's going to take next month, and-

"Want to come? I feel like… it might be better if I don't go alone. I'm planning on it being two weeks, but it could end up longer than that, and-"

"I'd love to."

She reaches out and entwines their fingers, because the idea of not touching him is suddenly painful. "This doesn't have to mean anything. We can absolutely do this as friends, if you like."

"Is something other than friends an option?"

"If you want it to be. We can… we can try to figure that out. If you want."

"I would like that."

Screw it, she decides, crossing the distance and kissing him. It's a very solid not-going-anywhere-right-this-moment kiss, but she's wondered what he feels like when he's not in a state of blind panic and yes, she thinks, she's going to enjoy learning all of this as they evolve.

"That okay?" she asks, retreating back to where she was.

"Pomegranate suits you," he murmurs. She supposes that's a yes. She'll take it.


	20. whatever you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts - “Stay here tonight.” + “Is this okay?”
> 
> A 2x06-missing-scene retake.

There are no other options. That's how she'll justify it, if she remembers a damn thing in the aftermath.

Loneliness has been one of the great constants in Lucy's life, and she really ought to be able to handle it better, but it's somehow worse in this underground concrete box that's become her home. Living with two very affectionate couples is… a lot, and she's at least happy for Rufus and Jiya (frankly at this point Wyatt doesn't even deserve to go to hell, no, someplace so much darker than that) but she doesn't need that kind of accidental emotional taunting. Connor, she suspects has never _had_ a romantic entanglement, but she's already tired and in no mood to listen to him talk about one of his bizarre special interests or a planned future rebirth or whatever other shiny thing's caught his eye that she won't understand.

That leaves Flynn. Who, against her better judgment, is currently the closest thing she has to a favorite person. And who is also very alone and wouldn't mind a little company.

She's not sure what she wants from him, exactly. Mostly she just wants someone to talk to who's on her level, who realizes that her opinions are valid and who will _listen_ to her. And magnificent list of faults be damned, Flynn has validated her even while yelling at her and she's just a little bit impressed. Sure, there were moments he made it damn clear that he thought her opinions were _wrong_ (and in fairness and hindsight most of them _were_ ), but not in any way that felt like an attack. His issues were with minor things, not her as an overall person.

She doesn't remember the last time anyone liked her that consistently. She's pretty sure it's never happened before and likely never will again. She knows, instinctively, that she should take as much as she can while it lasts.

And despite her better instincts, there's a flicker of something else between them. He's pleasant to look at, solidness and sharp angles, and she wonders what it would be like to put her hands all over that. She's in no mood to do so tonight, or at least she's not planning to, but it's the closest thing she's got to a future plan. If they win, if they live, she's going to pull him down and put her mouth on his and see what happens from there.

Right now, though, right now she just wants to feel a little less alone and she knows he'll give her that easily enough.

So she knocks, clutching a bottle of cheap vodka like a lifeline because it's rude to invade someone's spaces without a peace offering, and he opens the door and steps back and lets her in and stays silent until the door closes.

"What's wrong?" Smart man.

"If I sleep on that couch again, I'm pretty sure a wire is going to puncture my kidney or something." No point being subtle. Not that Lucy has poked around in places she's not wanted, but there's that lovely chair over there that she suspects would be much more comfortable than her previous sleeping arrangements, and she's quiet and takes up no space and-

"Little early for that," Flynn shrugs. Like they've got any sense of time down here.

"Also your room is the furthest from certain… noise hazards. I need quiet. Is that okay?"

He looks… honestly, like he's cycling through several very different emotions and can't decide which is the most terrifying, so… overwhelmed, she thinks, about covers it. "Of course," he says too quickly, and she wonders what she's interrupting. Probably nothing, but-

"You can say no. If you want. I can-"

"You can stay." Calmer now. Perhaps he actually _does_ want her here. "Whatever you want, Lucy."

She came with the intent of talking, but the silence is so much more comfortable. It's so easy just standing there, trying to pretend she's not staring at him, wondering if it would be too much if she reached for his hand. Gods, she's pathetic, can't even want distraction sex like normal people, can't-

"We should drink," she says to break the tension. Yes, because adding alcohol to an already weird situation is a _beautiful_ idea.

Lucy does not objectively like vodka. She likes it in the sense that it gets a good end result very quickly, but she doesn't care for the taste. So, the logical solution to the issue is to down her first glass very quickly. And her second, because she is thorough and wants to feel numb. And her third, because why not, she's got nothing to lose and a hangover will distract her so beautifully in the morning.

Apparently this is a little more than Flynn signed up for, and for the first time in her life she feels sorry for the man for reasons that have nothing to do with brutal tragedy.

"That won't help," he murmurs, taking the glass from her hands. There's a little more skin-on-skin than is absolutely necessary, but innocent enough. Brings her back to her surroundings - she is not entirely sure how she ended up sitting on the edge of his bed, but she is and she's comfortable and-

"Thank you."

He looks heartbroken. She won't remember anything else from this night, but she will remember the pain in his eyes as he sets the glass down on a table or something and then retreats back to where she is. Something about this absolutely destroys him, this man who's twice her size and has had one drink to her three and likely has a much better tolerance than she does and is thus _far_ more situationally aware than she is. She will die thinking about that, and it will sting, and-

"You need to rest," he murmurs, and one of his hands is gentle on her waist, and that is the last thing she feels for a very long time.

(In the morning, she wakes up under carefully tucked blankets and panics.)

(In the morning, she decides she would be alright with his face being the first thing she sees every time she opens her eyes.)


	21. let her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "who hurt you?"
> 
> Chapter-specific content warning for vague aftermath of torture (I don't describe in detail but clearly Bad Things Happened).

They get separated. She's not sure how. They are on yet another goddamned battlefield, and Lucy is starting to suspect they will visit every significant part of World War Two before this damned war of their own ends, and they get fucking separated because despite being the most distinctive person in any goddamn room (or foxhole, or whatever), Garcia Flynn is _amazingly_ easy to lose when he's got some suicidal scheme that he hasn't bothered to tell anyone else on the team.

This is becoming a routine, and one she's decided she wants to nip in the bud as soon as she figures out how. And it hurts like hell, and she'd scream if she thought anyone would listen or care, but instead she settles for a beautiful parade of swear words in her mind and lays down plans for how she's gonna yell at him when he comes back, because he is going to deserve every. damn. second of her anger.

They do get Flynn back about a day later, in the even-more-chaotic fallout of Wyatt's end of the mission (Lucy assumes there's a body count but doesn't ask), and he looks like shit on a level she hasn't seen since the JFK incident and he's about as talkative as he was that time too. Fucking perfect.

Lucy knows herself too well at this point. She knows she gets angry about a lot of very petty things, and the fact that a man she is starting to love has _occasional_ problems with communication ought to be lower on her list of frustrations. But god, what little of his skin she can see is covered in some interesting bruises and she feels intensely territorial even as she weighs the odds of getting an explanation if she asks nicely.

Later, she decides as she straps in and braces for the jump. Later. Once they're home and she's actually seen the damage and knows exactly why she's mad and who she hopes died painfully.

It's become normal enough for her to follow him to his room after a mission, normal enough that no one else notices or cares. She herself did fairly well this time, barely even a paper cut, and she's ready to get out of her current outfit but when the worst thing she has to complain about is kitten heels… oh, she'll get comfortable first because that'll buy them time, but then she'll go into panicked girlfriend mode like she wants and everything will be okay.

Learning to love someone who lacks anything resembling self-preservation skills is new for her. It's one thing when Flynn gets hurt trying to protect her - which has admittedly happened too much for her liking, but at least then she knows _how_ it happened. Things she doesn't get to watch are another animal altogether, and she's still learning how to play with it and-

"Who hurt you?" she asks, point-blank because she's not sure where else to start. She's halfway changed by now, her favorite pair of leggings paired with the early-40s bra from hell and okay yeah her breasts might be bleeding, this is unpleasant, but at least she can _admit_ she's in pain as she unhooks the damned thing and-

"They're dead now," he replies. A valid answer, perhaps, but not what she's aiming for.

"Is anything broken?"

"Nothing that won't heal soon enough."

Lucy rolls her eyes. Ah yes, she is signing herself up for… probably not a _lifetime_ of this, she knows survival odds for this beautiful idiot aren't looking like forty years, but _this_ is what she's committing herself to. Yep, she is a masochist.

"Can you just strip so I can deal with whatever wounds you're not telling me about?" There is no subtle anymore. She is so. done.

"I didn't get shot this time."

"You sure about that? You're moving like that time you…"

She's never sure where the limit of his patience is going to be on a given day, but apparently this is it. She watches, just out of reach, as he sheds three jackets and two shirts and dear fucking god there are a _lot_ of bruises on his torso and a few nasty-looking cuts and-

"Okay," she breathes. "Stay still."

"That's not… that's not all of it."

"I can only bandage so much at a time," Lucy murmurs, kneeling down to get the first-aid kit that occupies half the bottom drawer of the dresser she is slowly taking over. "Just… stay still and tell me if I do anything dramatically worse."

"High pain tolerance."

"You still have a pulse. You're still human. And medical alcohol still stings like hell."

She suspects that by the time this man stops fighting wars, if he _ever_ stops fighting wars (she hopes but doubts he will choose a quiet life if he survives this one), there will be a scar for every square inch of his skin. There will be two new ones from this adventure, one wound that likely needs stitches but she doesn't quite trust her hands so a bandage will have to do and she'll reassess in the morning. Worst-case scenario, everyone else they work with is better with a needle than she is. Worst-case scenario…

"You don't need to cry."

She didn't realize she was until he points it out, and then okay yeah she is but not… not like she feels like she ought to be. A few stray tears as she stands in front of her partner and reasons that most of the blood on his skin probably is his feels like not enough. She should be torn apart by this, but instead it's just another mundane Thursday of trying to save the world and getting caught in crossfire along the way.

"You need to try to stay closer to me. Please."

"You didn't need me. You don't-"

Lucy wonders offhandedly if, in current condition, he'd even feel it if she hit him. She won't, isn't fond of that kind of communication, but she's damned tempted.

"I absolutely _do_ need you," she murmurs, pushing herself on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "You keep me safe. And what if… what if something _did_ happen to me?"

She knows it's a little mean to play off his guilt and protectiveness like that, but it gets him to shut up and stay still long enough to bandage the rest of what she can currently see and she is willing to take that trade right now.

"Okay. Pants. Just a few more…"

Not okay, she thinks as she sees the damage. Yep, there are going to be some unpleasant scars on his thighs and what the fuck even caused _that_ one and-

"Please. Don't…"

"You're alive," she repeats, more for her own benefit. "You're alive and they're not."

She deals with that set of wounds too quickly, hopes her bandaging will be enough and no one else will have to see. She's learned over the past few months in particular that her lover is a deeply private person, and she hasn't yet figured out why that is but she knows how much it means that he lets her in enough to know things. Enough to let her see him hurt, enough to let her help him heal.

"Thank you," he breathes as she finishes and he pulls on normal comfortable clothing. "You didn't have to, but…"

"I wanted to," she finishes. "I'm a shitty girlfriend otherwise, but I can at least do this."

"You're not… you are… thank you, Lucy."

She knows they'll talk about this in a few days, when things don't hurt so much. They'll talk, which is to say he'll panic because the smallest kindnesses from her are always too much, and he might attempt to apologize with his head between her thighs and she'll probably let him and…

Later, though. Not right now.

"Can I stay tonight?" she asks, because she always asks even though she knows the mattress is half hers as long as she wants it.

"Please."


	22. scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said after you kissed me.

She tastes like cold coffee and sadness, and she weighs too much in his arms and he's not entirely sure whether he's just made the biggest mistake of his life. Either the biggest mistake or the best possible decision, and the next few moments will decide that and he will have no control over the outcome.

Garcia Flynn does not fall in love easily. The fact that he did _once_ , years ago now, was a damn miracle that he attributes to Lorena being the most stubborn woman he'd met at the time.

 _At the time_. The words hang heavy. Is it wrong to realize that the woman he's currently speechless with is actually better at some things than his now-long-dead wife was? Is it wrong that he doesn't _mind_?

He is not, will not compare them. He's managed to find a second consuming love; he can recognize the ways in which Lucy is different than his past without finding her lacking in any way. He knows her history, has seen her scars, and he's not that much of an asshole.

Better in some ways, worse in others, wildly different and yet confirmation that he's always been attracted to the same things, and he is not sure how to say any of that or if he even should.

But she's looking at him that way she does when she's her version of happy, and she hasn't tried to break the embrace, and he supposes he'll be alright. Eventually. Maybe. Once he remembers how to breathe properly.

"So that…"

He licks his lips involuntarily, still searching for words. "Did I do something wrong?"

She doesn't say anything right away, and it worries him, but she rests her body against his and oh she feels _right_ like that. Small and safe, and he wonders what it will be like at some point in the future when he is allowed to hold her at night, he wonders what it will be like to see her peaceful first thing in the morning, he wonders what-

"No. I'm just… give me time," she murmurs. "I can't do anything too fast. You know that."

He does. He knows, likely better than anyone else, why she makes the choices she does. For the better part of a year, he's tried to figure out how to work with it. They pretend to be married on missions as a default now, because it justifies their dynamic so easily, but their actual dynamic in their own timeline is more complex and covers so much more and he's not sure what to call it.

What he is sure of, as he strokes her back because he has to do _something_ with his hands right now or the world will fall apart, is that he loves her more than he is ever going to be comfortable saying out loud in full detail and she… at least _could_ return those feelings, he thinks.

No. Dammit, she asked him to kiss her and he obliged because he will do whatever she asks, has been willing to follow her every instruction since she made the choices that got him out of maximum-security prison a year and a half ago. Everyone else on the team, he tells to go to hell on about a weekly basis - okay, fine, a little more like monthly with Jiya but she's tiny and adorable and much harder to be mad at than the rest of them. Lucy…

Oh, he was damned from the first time she yelled at him. He should've seen it so much sooner than he did.

"You could do that again sometime," she murmurs, voice muffledagainst his shirt. "If you wanted."

"I would like that."

"Not… not more than that, for a while. I trust you but…"

"I know."

Honestly, he doesn't even care whether or not they end up having sex at any point. He hopes - fine, yes, he has absolutely thought about what it would be like with her, far more than he should've, but those daydreams don't mean anything, not really. Whatever pace she sets, he will follow.

She pushes herself up on tiptoe, and he leans down at the right moment and their lips meet again. She wants slow, he'll accept slow, but his hands cup her face and it hits him that touching her feels _warm_ , like the home he hasn't had in almost a decade, like-

"We don't even have to do that," she murmurs, breaking the contact. "If it's too much for you."

"It's not-"

"I know I'm not the only one with scars. You're so good with mine. I'll try to be more gentle with yours."


	23. priority

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said when you thought I was asleep.

She does not mean to take up semi-permanent residence in a big fluffy armchair in his room. Like most things in her life lately, and like almost everything in their relationship, it just kinda _happens_.

Look, Lucy is lonely. Has been for a while now, and the current state of the overall team dynamic isn't helping. She feels adrift and a little self-destructive, and she figures out quickly that the easiest way of handling those things is to seek help from the person most likely to understand them.

Asking Flynn for help with something that doesn't end with a body count. Good grief. Maybe she _is_ turning into a monster.

Regardless, he's kind to her - that too is something she has very mixed feelings about - and surprisingly okay about her decision that they are going to become actual friends. She doesn't push, learns quickly that certain topics are _very_ off-limits, learns… a lot of things, far more than she expects, and offers of herself in return.

And it's so easy, when it's the middle of the night, to fall asleep in that damned chair. After the first couple times, that too becomes part of the routine. She knows she will wake up buried under a blanket pile, and most days there will be tea waiting when she decides she wants it, and she is not sure where that man learned to be this sweet but…

Okay. Yeah. She has a pretty good guess where he learned, and that's at the top of the list of stuff she's not allowed to ask questions about. Ah well. She's more than willing to accept his kindnesses without pushing too far.

To her surprise, she sleeps better there than she does in her own bed, in the somehow-too-big room that's supposed to be _hers_ at this new safehouse. It feels so much more comfortable to share space with another human being, to feel just the tiniest bit wanted at consistent points in her daily routine, to know that she is not alone.

To her surprise, it takes a few months before she finally wakes up in the middle of the night because her brain is unstable. A random attack, not a clear nightmare but enough to jolt her awake, and she is thankful she remains silent. Flynn does not need to be woken up at four in the morning by a screaming woman. God only knows what flashbacks _that_ would cause, and-

Whatever. It doesn't matter, because he isn't exactly sleeping right now. Lying on his bed, yes, but his eyes are wide open and he appears to be… probably not meditating, but… praying.

Praying, Lucy realizes as her eyes adapt to the first flickers of morning light that slip through the window behind her. Everything he has been through, and he still believes something greater than himself is responsible.

She knows not to interrupt such an important ritual, but she adjusts her body so he'll see she's awake when his eyes inevitably wander her way. She can't make out what he's saying, and it's definitely not in a language she understands, but it's somehow _less_ desperate than she might expect. Maybe she slept through that part, but-

He does that hand-motion thing she can't remember the proper name for, apparently done, and then he sees her. Great. This won't be the most awkward conversation they've had, but easily top-five material if he…

Well…

Even dead on his feet at godawful-AM, Flynn is not exactly subtle. It takes a surprisingly short amount of time for him to clear the distance between them and kneel beside her improvised bed - having asked the Almighty for some kind of absolution, it appears he's moving on to the next higher power on his list, and Lucy's not sure how she feels about it.

"What's wrong?" Barely a question, already so worried, she's thankful for the lighting issue because it'd break her heart if she could see the weight in his eyes right now and-

"Night terror. Not specific. I'm fine now."

"I should've… I should've noticed, Lucy. I'm sorry. I-"

"If I'd needed you to do something, I would've said. But you were preoccupied, and I can fight _some_ of my own battles." The words come out harsher than she intends, and she'll blame that on how tired she is if she bothers to think about it later. "I'm fine. Really."

He reaches out, gently puts his hand on her face, and she processes in that action exactly how terrified he is right now. As she has learned over the past few months, Flynn is not tactile without reason. He'll hold her hand on missions if it helps their cover, and he does what it takes to get her safe when bad things happen, but when they're in their primary timeline and things are alright he keeps a respectful distance. Not now, which means something is very wrong, and her heart hurts, and-

"I mean it," she murmurs. "You don't have to worry about me."

"What if I _want_ to worry about you?"

Oh.

 _Oh_.

That is… another conversation they are Intentionally Not Having, although in this case it's more because they're in the middle of a war and their complicated sexual tension bullshit can wait until said war is over. Lucy is in no mood to go there with anyone at any point in the next twenty years or so, and yet…

And yet, whether she likes it or not, there are sparks. Moments she realizes that this man, who is often a battering ram with a pulse and _frequently_ the smartest person in a given room (and knows it, unfortunately), is also the only human being who's valued both the good and bad parts of her. He has seen, vividly, the worst things within her - and he has also seen her practically glowing. Wasn't the smoothest process, but he's learned to see _her_.

And she, in her way, has reciprocated in kind. Having someone consistently on her side is a new and beautiful experience for her. The fact that said person is nice to look at and treats her well is…

"Okay," she murmurs, because now is not the time but now they _will_ have to talk about this sooner than she'd like.

"Do you want the bed tonight?"

"Nope. I fit fine here."

"I don't… you… if…"

Around everyone else, Flynn is charming and composed and generally a bizarrely endearing asshole. Around her, he's speechless. She kinda loves it.

"I'll let you know. That okay?"

She leans forward and kisses his forehead - well, aims for his forehead, actually ends up kissing the tip of his nose and it's so unexpectedly playful and she laughs because she _can_ , and she's pretty sure he smiles and she should not be feeling this many things right now.

"If something happens again, wake me up or get my attention. No matter what I'm doing. You are… you are my priority, Lucy."

From him, she supposes that's as close to three little words as she's gonna get.

"Okay. But right now you need to sleep too. We can talk about this in the morning."

He retreats back to his side of the room, and she watches to make sure he gets under his respective blanket pile before she closes her eyes again.

Yeah. They'll have to have that convo in the next couple of days. But she's a lot less scared of it than she was thirty minutes ago.

He loves her. She might love him back. They'll be fine.


	24. chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you always meant to say but never got the chance

She loved him. She realizes this too late, half an hour after he leaves on a probable suicide mission that _will_ \- if it works, if he bleeds pretty enough - save all of them.

Two years they've worked together, two years Lucy's wondered, and she never found the nerve. She can blame so many things - how guarded he was, less with her than anyone else but still wore his scars like armor; her own damage, her own justifiable fear of never being enough for anyone she might care about; the fact that they were in the middle of a war, hell, that alone was enough. But she regrets it, now that it's too late.

There is a very, very small chance he won't have to die. She hopes he won't die. But she's pretty sure she's blown through every favor the universe might owe her, and fate has never been kind to men who want to be martyrs.

Three days. Three days Lucy doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, drinks too much coffee and alternates between pacing hallways for hours and curling up in a ball on a chair in his room. It's an uncharacteristic violation of space, but she justifies it in her grief. The chair, more than anything else, smells like him. She can't… she won't…

If he comes back, she's going to yell at him until she's almost out of breath and then she's going to jump up and kiss him until he's in similar state. _If_ he comes back. _If_.

Three days, then four, then five. At some point she passes out, and when she wakes she has a sinking feeling in her soul.

He's not coming back. She knew that from the moment she heard the plan, but denial and unresolved love are too powerful and she ignored the fear. She ignored far too much. She can't…

Day six. She opens the box in the middle dresser drawer, the one he told her was there in case something bad happened back… back before anything had begun to blossom between them. Perhaps he always knew he was going to die, but that's not a thought process she needs right now so she pushes it away as she unfolds a piece of paper.

Damn him. Damn all of this.

She knew the box was intended for her, but she doesn't expect… she's not entirely sure what to call the thing, but "love letter" is a close approximation. A declaration of love, written at a very bad time by someone with emotional scars and a dramatic streak, making it all too clear what she'd suspected for three years.

If something else doesn't kill Flynn (if he somehow makes it back home), she just might. This is so typically _him_ , a bit of an asshole but in a way that's all too endearing, and yeah, she's gonna yell at him. Now he _has_ to come back.

Seven, eight. She puts his wedding ring on a chain and fastens it around her neck. She's never been much of a jewelry person, but it feels like an appropriate form of mourning for someone who was never hers… and yet _was_ hers, in every way she allowed, from the moment he met her. She sees that now, as she looks back on their origins. More likely than not, he fell in love with her amidst burning wreckage and evolved those feelings over years and shifting alliances and too many more tragedies, until the only way to keep her safe was to leave, and…

Day nine. A crashing sound in the middle of the night. Lucy has moved to the bed by now, claiming the space because it's quiet and she needs space to work through this black hole of a loss, and she finds the gun that's not supposed to be under the bed all too easily. There are… there are a _lot_ of things that could go wrong, as she steps outside into too-cold late autumn South Dakota night air in not enough layers, and yet… and yet…

Fine. There is about zero chance the Lifeboat - or what's left of it - is going to be functional anytime soon. There is a small crater, and while Lucy has survived a few really rough landings in her time, she's pretty sure those have nothing on this one.

But what she fixates on, pistol in one hand and flashlight in the other, is the person she never expected to see again leaning back against smoking metal. Not in ideal condition, but _alive_ and that alone is so much more than-

"You didn't even think to put on a coat?"

Ah. Yes. Functional enough to be in _that_ mode. Ten damn days and she did not know it was possible to miss someone that much.

"You're alive," she breathes.

"Barely."

"Did it work?"

"Yes."

There are other questions she should ask, she knows, but now does not feel like the right moment. Instead, she moves closer and they meet in the middle and-

"I read the letter. You… you could've just told me. At some point. We had chances."

"No. We didn't. You would be a difficult thing to lose, Lucy, and I-"

"You aren't easy to lose either," she counters, and then she kisses him.

It is three in the morning, and they both feel like death on legs, and it is not a _good_ kiss. But it's a beginning, and a transition, and a lot of things she can't process, and-

"We have chances now," he murmurs as they break apart. "And if you'll let me…"

"Yes. Always."

No more waiting for anything, she decides as she kneels down to pick up flashlight and weapon before they walk back inside. From now on, only love.


	25. safe place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts - things you said in your sleep + things you said when you were drunk
> 
> We're in 2x06/2x07 "missing scene" territory here, y'all.

He's less surprised than he should be when he hears a soft knock on his door. He knows, knew from the moment this twist in his fate was decided, that no one else is this subtle or this tolerant of him. He knows, as he crosses the space and opens the door just enough to see her, exactly what he's doing.

Lucy is captivating like a car crash, and about as functional lately. Flynn doesn't know what she was like before her entire life went down in flames, but he's noticed changes over the past year, stuff he'd never say out loud to her nor anyone else but noticed all the same. Recent events haven't helped, and he's half tempted to use his primary skill set to fix that, but…

"I won't sleep out there," she mutters as explanation, lifting up the bottle of questionable vodka she's been clutching for the past few days. "I thought…"

Oh, she must be even worse off than he thought. He runs through possible reasons in his mind why she might decide to seek him out, and all he can come up with is she's desperate and about to do something reckless. Yes, things were said, but…

"Of course." Talk as little as possible, he decides. Try to save her from herself, if this does indeed go there, but don't initiate anything. Do _not_ make it worse.

It hits him how natural she looks in his space, as she glances around the small room before deciding to sit down on the edge of the bed. Like a few hours and almost a century ago, except different because this is voluntary. Desperate, yes, but-

"You should hate me." Her voice is just slightly off, and he suspects she's attempted some solitary coping on her own before she decided to reach out. "Why don't you hate me?"

There are too many valid answers to that question, and he mentally runs through a few of the most obvious. Because she saved his life? More than anything, _yes_ , but they need to have that conversation when she's sober enough to remember it because discussing it _once_ is gonna break him and twice just might kill him. Because she's the only person in the world who sees whatever humanity is left in him? No, too dark, she's already drowning and she doesn't need his guilt. Because she's beautiful in a way that awakens parts of his soul he thought were dead and buried for years until she happened? Oh, in her current state, that is a _terrible_ thing to say and won't end anywhere they won't both regret once the dust settles. Because…

"You're not yourself right now, Lucy," he murmurs, hoping that doesn't sound as condescending as it feels. He doesn't mean to minimize her very legitimate question, but she's so fragile right now and…

God. She is fragile, and he hates it so much. She shouldn't be. She should be confident in herself, confident enough to do better than him in whatever way that might imply. But she is here, curling up on his bed and apparently claiming it for the night regardless of his feelings on the matter, and all he can do is stand back and watch.

"Course not," she mutters. "I don't like myself."

Ah. Yes. The self-blame part of the spiral. He should've known.

Look, it's been a _while_ since Garcia Flynn has had to deal with volatile female emotions in any form, and Lorena was never this dramatic (and now he's gone and thought about the dead wife for two seconds, as if he wasn't feeling terrible enough already), and he is not entirely sure how to wrangle this one. He does know that whether he likes it or not, he's on his own here. If anyone else finds out about this, if Lucy is at any point seen in his space for any reason whatsoever, shit's going to go down. No amount of explanation is going to make him look like a decent person here, and-

"I like you," he replies, figuring that's neutral enough and yet knowing it won't be.

"Why?"

"You've given me hope."

And there, he thinks, there is what she means to him. She's something to live for, a possible future he doesn't deserve, every reason he keeps fighting. He knows how selfish that is, and yet-

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I… you seemed like the only safe place."

"I am." He can try.

They stay there for a while in silence. At some point she sets the bottle of vodka down on the floor and then, with hands now free, finds a way to take up as much space on the mattress as possible. She looks _right_ there, and he decides in that moment that he doesn't mind her intrusion at all. He doesn't sleep well most nights and likely wouldn't have tonight _anyways_ , and he can deal with all of that just as easily in the chair.

At some point, Lucy falls asleep.

She deserves more than this, but at least this end of the bunker is fairly quiet. He drapes blankets over her, creating as much of a nest as he can - he's gotten the impression she's not fond of being cold, whereas he runs warm. He will be _fine_ without anything to burrow under, whereas she…

She makes a soft noise as he backs away, and his heart breaks a little. Somehow, improbably, he has fallen for this woman. Somehow, she at least has the potential to feel the same. Somehow, so help him, they'll be okay.

"You're safe here," he murmurs as he settles into the chair. It's going to be a long night watching over her, but he'll do his best.


	26. hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "I'll still be here when you're ready"

He falls in love, and then he waits.

It's never the right time. They're in the middle of a war, and Lucy is having approximately five simultaneous personal crises, and he will _not_ become another one. He is content in their friendship, in the half-second-too-long looks and the occasional nights she doesn't want to be alone. He has scars too, and the thought of moving forward is still foreign.

Above all else, he can't put that weight on her. He's convinced he'll die before this is over, and he knows too deeply what it is to lose someone one loves, and he cannot bear to think of what that would do to her. She of all people doesn't deserve to drown like that.

And then the war ends and they win and somehow, Flynn is still alive and all the promises he made about what he would do once it ends - what he _will_ do, now - come back to haunt him.

They get one night to adjust. In the morning, the debriefing process apparently starts, and he does not expect that's going to be a good time for him in particular. The overall narrative does show he was right, and he hopes the rest of the team will confirm that he caused no further problems once that was made clear, but that doesn't mean some underpaid drone from whatever agency gets stuck with this project is going to listen. The best case scenario, as far as he's concerned, is any that ends with him alive and not trapped in another concrete box. More than that would be a miracle.

One last night. He has to do _something_ , because this may well be the last chance. He's just not sure how.

At the very moment he starts running through options, how he might want to confess feelings that have taken up the good parts of his heart for years now, the door opens. Lucy doesn't knock anymore, just lets herself in because she's here so much anyways and he's never turned her away. Never even wanted to, and that more than anything else reveals how much he likes her. Over the past few months, she's seemed more comfortable within his room than anywhere else. Tonight, though, she stays by the door and she looks so broken and-

"What's wrong?"

"I wanted to say goodbye. Properly." She sounds like she's about to cry. He hopes she doesn't, but it wouldn't be the first time and he can deal.

"We'll see each other again," he murmurs, crossing the distance and wishing he could actually promise that instead of saying pretty lies to calm her down. He doesn't actually know if they will, if he'll be allowed to, if she would even want that. But he wants, wants so desperately, wants-

"Not like this. It'll be different. I… I have three years to catch up on. You have more than that."

"That doesn't mean we can't still be friends." It comes out more bitter than he intends - he would be _fine_ with staying as they are, he swears, and yet-

"It'll be different," she repeats as she reaches for his hand and entwines their fingers. They've gotten comfortable with gentle physical contact over the past few months, comfortable enough that he knows he will hold her for a while before she leaves, but the smallest actions still send flutters through his skin. "Not like…"

Oh hell. Last chance, he reminds himself. Might as well take it while he's conscious of it.

"I want to be more than friends with you, if…"

She digs her fingernails into his skin, and he can tell that was the wrong way of saying it and maybe not the impeccable timing it had seemed like.

"I'm not ready," she murmurs. "I need… I need time, Garcia. And we have that now. I'm not saying no, just not yet. I don't trust myself enough."

"Alright. I'll still be here, when you're ready."

"I know." She pushes herself up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek, and even this is not a new action but it feels different now. "I do want you. But if we happen… I want…"

"You don't need to be scared of me, Lucy." She never has been, and that was the first reason he fell for her, but still.

"I want to be sure I won't destroy you. Is that enough?"

"Of course." And perhaps he himself should be scared of the same thing, but he knows better. He's spent too much time with this woman, knows her too well. She is the only person, in all of time and space, who he trusts is completely immune to the worst of him. No harm will come to her by his hand, he has made promises and vows that he will tell her about someday and-

"I love you too," she murmurs, shifting again and resting her body against his. "I'm just a little too much of a mess to do anything about it."


	27. for the rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts - things you said before you kissed me + things you said in a hotel room.

Her life is her own again.

The concept weighs too heavy on Lucy, as she stands in the middle of a hotel room in some outer suburb of DC and processes the past few days. Her final round of debriefing finished a couple hours ago, and she decided to retreat back to where she's been the past few days and wait out the rest.

She can only imagine how much fun their team has been for the parade of federal agents they've dealt with this past week, and how the dynamics were explained as to domestic arrangements. Somebody definitely lied about _something_ , because while she is very happy with not being alone, she and Flynn aren't…

Well… they aren't…

Physical boundaries exist, and they're strange and make zero sense when she's attempted to explain them to anyone else. He wraps his body around hers at night to keep her safe, has done so for the past year, but he won't kiss her properly. They pretended to be married on every mission during the final six months, but they haven't talked about their relationship in their own time. They've both got damage, and that's part of it, but there was the fear of not surviving and being hurt again and now that's gone and she doesn't know what will become of them and-

The door opens behind her, and she stays right where she is. She is not, has never been, unnecessarily affectionate. She needs to read the situation first, see what state he's in before she decides if any touch is warranted, and go from there. She needs-

"We're both free," he mutters. "At least there's that."

"It went that badly?" They've very intentionally _not_ talked about their respective sessions, for sanity reasons, but she suspected-

"I have spent the past ten days attempting to explain the fine line between patriot and terrorist to a surprising variety of people who did not listen. If I didn't have you to worry about, I would've done so differently. Yes, that badly."

Her heart flutters as she processes the implications - that she's important enough to him to make him tone down his dramatic streak and general wrecking-ball nature. It feels warm, the beginning of something beyond explanation, and-

"And how did yours go?"

"I now know way more than I ever wanted to about how security clearances work and how many I got without having any idea, and I'm pretty sure they want me to change careers, but… like you said, at least we're free."

Will they stay that way? She can't imagine a lifelong soldier is going to get out that easily, but she hopes anyways. Perhaps, if they're lucky, there is a life ahead of them. A house somewhere, a life built _together_ , maybe a kid - she's pretty sure she wants that, as long as he does, if-

"What are you doing next?" he asks, sitting down on the bed so they're almost at eye level.

"I don't know. I guess I have to figure that out. I always thought… I wasn't sure we'd win, I thought I'd die, I was even more sure that _you_ would, I… I don't know. You?"

"All I know is I want to stay with you, if you'll let me. I don't… I don't want to face the world alone."

"I don't either."

So much weight in this moment, the beginnings of an actual life together now that they _can_ , but such beauty too. Lucy does not remember a moment in her life when someone actually chose _her_ , but this man opposite her has done so consistently for years and she kept him at safe distance because she was scared, but now… now…

She takes three steps forward, puts her hands on his shoulders, and kisses him like she's wanted to for at least the past year (if not the moment they met, but that's here nor there and the darkness of where they started has faded into comforting morning light). Longing and hope as they collide, as his hands rest on her hips for a few moments and then reach up and undo the loose bun her hair didn't want to stay in. Longing and want, and they are in a hotel room alone and will be in this space at least until morning unless they decide to venture out for food and-

"I want you," she breathes as they break apart, resting her head in the curve of his neck. "I want you. In whatever ways you want me."

"You have me."

And hell, she thinks, they've got a decent mattress behind them and it's all too easy to start shedding her layers. He watches her in awe, looks but doesn't touch until she reaches out and puts his hand on the hollow between her breasts.

"We lived," she murmurs. "And now we can do this."

She has a thing about his hands, she decides as she stands there and is undone. Once granted permission, Flynn is… heavens, she's seen what happens when she gives consent for him to do what he wants, but she's used to that part of their interplay involving violence directed at someone who's tried to hurt her. It's a different animal in a more intimate environment, and yet there's familiarity as he kisses and touches and pulls her closer and takes careful note of every little way she responds. They know each other so well, and he is exactly as she would hope in this space, and-

"Would it be more comfortable if you lie down?" His hand stills between her legs, and she is so close and-

"This is fine."

A shifting of pressure and she falls against him, kissing him for fear of what sounds she might make, and he catches her. He always does, always has, but it is different like this and she love it, loves him, loves-

"Your turn," she breathes when she is present in her body again.

She _should_ think about safety precautions, she thinks as she watches him undress, but she does not care. She's thirty-six and the odds of disaster are small, and if something were to happen it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. They'd deal, and she'd be fine, and-

They collide. There are no other words, as they become one and fall apart together. Collide, and she does not remember feeling this safe with a lover, and she wants this for the rest of her life.

"Are you alright?" he asks in the aftermath.

"Yes." She wants to cry. She wants to do a lot of things. She settles for a few lingering kisses before she goes to retrieve her dress, and she supposes this is her new normal and she's never been happier. "Are you?"

He doesn't say anything, but the look in his eyes is more than enough.

They're together. They'll figure the rest out as they go. It'll be fine.


	28. temporary hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said in the backyard at night

Fresh air, unsupervised, in her own time. Lucy didn’t think she’d get this lucky again, but here she is.

Sure, it’s absolutely freaking freezing, but the rules have changed now that they are in the ass end of wherever. As long as the safehouse is in sight, she's allowed to take time and be alone. And she finds, as the weeks pass and the rule isn't changed and no harm occurs to anyone because of this slightest freedom, that she loves it more than anything.

The beginnings of winter have dampened everyone else's interest in that particular method of avoiding boredom, but Lucy still slips out for an hour or two each day. Most of the time she brings a book with her, determined as always to learn _something_ new that might help in this bizarre on-and-off war they fight, but as it's gotten colder she's stopped the mid-afternoon quiet reading and started going out in the evenings to just _be_. The safehouse is somehow smaller and more isolating once the stars come out, and frostbite sounds more appealing than refereeing yet another argument.

Someone always knows what she's doing and which direction she's gone, "someone" meaning either Jiya or Flynn depending on which of them she can find easier. Lately it's consistently been the second option, and she'll blame that on the fact that the man is goddamn impossible _not_ to find and not the strange tension blossoming between them. Not, at all, the things she cannot want and cannot act on.

That isn't love, Lucy tells herself. It may feel like love but it isn't. It's desperation, lack of options, and a lot of trauma-related bullshit she'll probably never get around to dealing with even if she _does_ miraculously survive the next few years and gets a second chance at a normal life at any point. Anything she feels about anyone she is stuck with is, at best, a side effect of too much interaction. None of it is real.

She's gone outside this evening to think about that somewhere she doesn't have to deal with other human beings. It's been four days since one of their less disastrous missions - another World War One trip, unfortunately, but none of them got anything worse than a paper cut. But there was some maneuvering in a desperate situation, she supposes is the best way of justifying things, and days later she can still feel echoes of gentle hands twirling her out of the way. She wonders what it would be like if he touched her in a situation where her life wasn't at stake. She wonders… she shouldn't wonder…

Hell, she knows the phase where she used alcohol to numb everything was not one of her better ideas, but it was a lot better than daydreaming about things that will never happened. At least the haze of cheap but strong vodka didn't make her _feel_ things.

All of a sudden, she snaps back to the outside world because of two things - it is snowing, not bad yet but still a phenomenon she has little familiarity with in her own timeline, and someone's coming towards her. She reaches for the knife in her jacket pocket, not sure what she'd even do with it if something terrible happened but she's improvised in terrible situations before and she can again and-

"You're going to get sick if you keep doing this."

Ah yes. Speak of the devil. This isn't the first time Flynn's wandered out to check on her if she's been outside for what seems like an unusual length of time, but usually he doesn't try to start a conversation. Usually he just makes eye contact with her, stares a couple moments longer than necessary to make sure she's not bleeding or doing anything wildly destructive, and goes back inside. Today, of course, is an exception. Because that's just how things have been going.

"I don't care," she mutters. The ground underneath her is starting to get a little uncomfortable, but she can and was planning to do another half-hour or so before going inside and hiding under a ridiculous pile of blankets for as long as possible.

"I do."

"Why?" She feels like burning it down, all of a sudden. She can't think about him like _that_ if he goes back to hating her, even though that little voice in her head is very sure he's never actually hated her. But he's gotten annoyed more than a few times, and from there it's easy enough to convince herself for long enough that she has no desire to be held or kissed or worse or-

"You're important, Lucy."

"I've been sidelined before and nobody died. And I can still help from the sidelines if I have the flu."

"Not… not like that. You are important to me."

He sits down next to her, seeming to give up on the immediate issue for now, and it feels strange and comforting at once. Physical distance between them has varied wildly these past few months, based mostly on what he chooses - she hasn't had any feelings on the subject, has let it go because she doesn't _care_. Lately there's been more distance, and that's worked out well for both of them, but he's always more territorial when he's worried and it makes sense that he's close enough that she could reach for his hand if she wanted to.

And she does want to, and she does, and he's warm and solid and someday she wants to be made certain of those things in a different context, and she _wants_ , and she shouldn't want, and-

"Is something wrong?"

She could lie. She probably should. She can't.

"I think about you too much," she mutters. "Things that can't happen. You're distracting and none of this is _real_ and I'm not-"

As usual, as is prone to happening whenever they talk about things involving emotions neither of them know how to handle, Lucy starts crying. It's strange how safe that's become, letting her walls down and being vulnerable around someone so… so whatever he is, because she's not pinning that down in her current state, but somehow he is a safe place for her and that makes it worse. Because if she screws up, if she acts on that impulse that wants to cross the distance and kiss him, they will never be the same and she _cannot_ lose what they already are.

"Someday," he replies, tracing patterns on her hand. "I think about it too. Not yet, not here. But if there is a future where we both live and are allowed to be free… if we are given that… I would like to know."

Oh.

For months now, she's figured her issues were one-sided. Flynn is a hot mess of scars, and so many involve loss. The mere idea that he might want to love someone again, after being so aware of how terribly things can be taken away, is the most glowing hopeful thing she's heard in a long time. The idea that he might want _her_ is just unfair. But here they are anyways.

"Someday," she repeats. "I want that."

"Somewhere that isn't here. Somewhere warm and safe. If you'll let me."

"I can't promise anything. This might not be real for me. I don't know if it is."

"I'm not asking for that, Lucy. Temporary hope is enough. If you decide otherwise… that is your choice. Whatever makes you happy. Just let me know."

Whatever makes her happy. She's not sure anyone's cared about that before. And she knows, in that moment, that she's not going anywhere.

"Understood."


	29. enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said on the highway.

She lets him drive most of the way.

It's been a strange few months. The war ended, they won (she's still not totally sure how), they survived the debriefing process, and now they attempt to find something that feels like normal. For Lucy, this means self-inflicted exile and a slightly sideways step in her career. There are, objectively, much worse things she could do than take a teaching job at a private college in Minnesota. She's not totally sure what those things _are_ , but she's sure they exist somewhere.

And hey, at least she's not alone. She doubts she'll ever be alone again.

Flynn… to put it bluntly, did not have anywhere near the prospects she did for a glorious new start. He still seems to be in shock that he survived, even six months later, and the life he's lived has started to catch up with his physical being and god knows no branch of the US military has the patience to deal with his charming personality. Instead, he's decided to embrace his puppy-like tendencies and follow Lucy on her great adventure.

Unsurprisingly, she doesn't mind at all.

The drive out with what few worldly possessions they care about is supposed to take three days split up for sanity, and they are on day two and somewhere in Wyoming. Wyoming, as Lucy probably should've expected, is one of those states that is somehow even bigger and less interesting than she thought. There is no scenery worth looking at in this part of the landscape, she gets nauseous if she tries to read while in any kind of moving space, and she can only stare at her boyfriend for so long before even that gets boring.

Or… shit. Boyfriend. She's not sure that's what he actually is. It's what she _said_ he was during her interview last month, and that was probably not something she should've mentioned in the first place but she figured tiny middle-of-nowhere Catholic college should know what exactly they're hiring, but it doesn't feel totally accurate. And they have nothing but time, and at least another two hours before they're in South Dakota and can start _maybe_ thinking about stopping for the day, and there are much worse conversations she could decide to have.

"So… you _are_ okay with people thinking we're dating, right?"

Flynn glances over for a heartbeat and gives her a winning what-the-fuck-did-I-sign-up-for look. "I was under the impression that was what we were actually doing."

"We're something. But we haven't exactly defined what that something _is_ , and-"

"Does it need to be defined?"

She sighs. She really should've known better. "Yes. Because someone's gonna ask, and I'd like to be able to defend myself."

He's silent for a few moments, in that way she knows means he's trying to find the right words and maybe getting languages confused. (If nothing else, there's probably a Russian word for this kind of bullshit.) He'll get there in his own time, and she knows better than to push, and-

"Dating covers it well enough, but you can say whatever you think is best. I doubt I'll need a corresponding response."

Of course he doesn't think that. Of course he remains oblivious to how damn charismatic he is even without several weapons in hand or otherwise on his person. There are a lot of details there that should probably be unpacked by a therapist at some point, none of which Lucy is inclined to deal with right this second, but it frustrates her that he can't see all that he is.

The scary parts, he sees just fine. The beauty, almost never.

And it breaks her, more than it should. It breaks her, because there is still a part of her that wants all the _normal_ things and she's getting by on daydreams, and there is no tactful way to have the conversations she wants about a simple wedding or trying for a kid or any of that. Such is life when one falls in love with someone whose physical and emotional scars are evenly matched. She should've known better.

"Maybe they'll just assume we're married," she says after a while. There's comfort in their quiet, as always, but she needs some kind of clarity here. "We act like it. I think. I don't-"

"We do. We take care of each other. That should be enough."

God, she hopes it will be…


	30. power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said too quietly.

She realizes she actually loves him at two in the morning on one of those rare nights he falls asleep before she does.

They're complicated, for now. Two weeks out of hell, clinging to each other for dear life, not quite ready to go on and figure out how to live normal lives after all they've survived. If that's even possible. Lucy's starting to suspect it isn't, as she slowly pieces together yet another facade that will keep her safe and sound, and she hopes she's wrong but she's never been that lucky.

No, the only pleasant surprise life has ever given her is wrapped up in the body that lies next to her, and even that has left her with scars.

Worth it, though. Absolutely worth it.

They've clung to each other for the better part of a year, and it's only natural that the dynamic continue as they try to reenter the outside world. She asked him to come home with her - home, to this house she's inherited and hates and wants to get the hell out of but can't quite yet, not until she's sorted through decades of her mother's papers and found herself a proper way out - and as with everything else she's ever asked of him, he complied. She's learned, working alongside him for so long, what a strange power she has. With the rest of the world, even with the rest of their team, even towards the end when they were all just so tired and didn't have energy to be petty, Garcia Flynn is stubborn and impulsive and dangerous. With her, though… with her…

She wonders how long he's loved her. She suspects since before he met her current incarnation. She doesn't know how to ask and isn't sure if she wants to.

Oh, she has taken a monster into her bed and asked him to be hers, and if there is a worse hell than what they have already faced then he will follow her there too. Having this sort of power over another human being is still strange for Lucy, and she worries it could corrupt her. She's not sure how to keep this pure, how to love and be loved, how to-

"Something wrong?"

Dammit. He's not actually asleep. She should've known. They are two weeks into a proper domestic arrangement, and a year and a half before that where they'd often end up sleeping innocently in the same spaces, and she should've known. He's incapable of rest when something is off about her - she remembers that time she got the most boring mundane possible case of the flu and he didn't sleep for four days because he was too damn worried about her - and that is definitely something they need to work on but-

"I'm fine," she says too quickly.

"You are not fine."

She feels it more than hears it, her body draped over his. The physical closeness, at least, does not overwhelm her. He's twice her size and mindful of it, protective even in subconscious but gives her the space she wants and desires. She doesn't deserve this.

"I might love you," she murmurs, like it's a curse. It probably _is_ , knowing her luck.

"Oh."

He doesn't push her. Perhaps that's the only thing that's changed on his side since they met amidst fire, the fact that he is now much more willing to accept her timing and let her open up when she's comfortable and not a moment before. He likely would've waited the rest of his life to admit any kind of affection for her if she hadn't been high on emotions and pulled him down for a way-too-public kiss like she did, and she's starting to accept that she will have to lead in everything.

She doesn't like that power. It should be comforting but instead it makes her feel nauseous.

"I _do_ love you," she corrects. "And I'm not… I can't. I am not a good person and I am not good for you and you are way too willing to do anything I ask and-"

"And it is late, and we can talk about this when you're not exhausted."

"I can't sleep. That might be a couple days from now. At least."

"I can wait."

She's not sure what to say that won't lead to her crying, so instead she shifts her body and kisses him like she wants something. And she does. Oh, she wants to take all she can from this man, she wants everything he will give her and she knows just how much that is, he's almost died to keep her safe on two separate occasions and yes their lives are quieter now and there probably won't be a third but she _knows_ and-

"This won't help you, Lucy."

"I'm trying to forget what a terrible person I am. Sex is good for that."

"No. It isn't."

Well there goes that idea. She doesn't have anything else, and having a quiet breakdown is a little bit awkward when there's another person right there, and-

"I love you," she says again, because saying it makes it feel more real and appropriately terrifying. "And I shouldn't. I'll destroy you."

Dark room be damned, she's pretty sure she can see him roll his eyes. "You know how much I've survived. I highly doubt one person's love can do more damage than anything else I've seen."

"You've done everything I've ever asked of you."

"Because I trust you, and your instincts are better than you think. You are not what you see in yourself."

"But what if I am? What if the dark thing wins?"

"We'll deal with that when we have to. For now, it hasn't. For now, you are an intelligent, kind, beautiful, extremely determined woman who I love with all I am. I choose to believe in that version of you."

Oh, she hates when he gets just a little bit dramatic and she can't properly counter it, and she hates that physical affection is currently off-limits even though most of her body is on top of him, and she hates that he's probably right.

They've known each other long enough, and Flynn has seen every extreme of her personality, and he should run like hell but instead he loves her and follows her like a puppy. He knows what he got himself into and he stays anyways. She doesn't deserve him, but maybe someday she will.

"We do need to talk about this sometime," she murmurs. "When we're both awake enough to make good choices."

"In the morning," he suggests. "I think you were going to have me attack the wallpaper in the spare bedroom?"

"Yeah. We can talk about it then. If that's okay for you."

"Anything that keeps my mind off that combination of household chemicals and bad design choices is okay. Now sleep, Lucy. You need it."

"So do you."

He kisses her forehead and she knows that's the end of this conversation for now, and she closes her eyes and drifts off to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

She loves him. She'll probably destroy him. He knows and doesn't care. She could make a life out of that.


	31. without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - on the edge of consciousness.

Whatever happened - he will leave it that, _whatever happened_ , any further details will make him feel even worse about the situation - whatever happened, when he rejoins the rest of the group and attempts to remind them that his lone-wolf tendencies usually work out fine, she’s not okay.

This in itself is unfortunately normal enough. Lucy _could_  be strong, has the potential to be, but lately she’s just tired and overwhelmed. And at the moment, looks physically broken and nobody seems to see that as a problem and-

He’ll yell at the rest of the team later. Once they get home, once he gets her under a blanket pile and makes sure she’s okay and-

Honestly, he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be this protective of her yet. They’ve become friends on a genuine level, and she’s more-or-less taken up residence in a chair in his room and that’s just a whole mess of things, but none of this has been outright discussed. Flynn is nothing if not adaptable, and he’s pretty sure the attachment he feels is mutual, but terms have not been established. They’ll probably never get that far, he’s convinced, and-

“You’re warm,” she murmurs as he helps her down after they land.

“You need to rest.” He’ll let her have the bed, he decides. He won’t rest until she’s functional again  _anyways_ , so she might as well recover on what passes for a mattress in their little corner of the world.

“Didn’t sleep last night. Couldn’t.”

“Oh?”

“Not without you.”

He knows better than to try to have this conversation. They need to, and soon, but when they’re both lucid enough. Not like this, not with her clinging to him like she never does, not like-

She lets go once the door closes behind them and drops onto the bed - so, at least they don’t have to discuss _that_. Still in her clothes from the mission, and out cold in seconds. Like this, and only like this, peaceful.

He watches for what feels like a few minutes before crossing the space, removing her shoes, and draping a quilt over her. None of this is new; all of this will be fine when she wakes up and processes the little caretaking things he’s done.

“I don’t sleep without you either,” he breathes, safe only because she can’t hear him.

He’s gotten too attached...


	32. innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second part to "without you", because someone asked for it.

She decides to try to take up more space after what is, so far, the least disastrous mission the team has gone on.

Admittedly, Lucy's standards have become nonexistent these past few years, but the fact remains that none of her people got shot, stabbed, or otherwise harmed in any significant way. Like, Jiya got a not-fun paper cut and that's _it_. And the team dynamic is almost perfect lately, Lucy doesn't remember the last time anyone got into a petty fight at the worst possible time, and-

They're home now, she's safe, she's tired, and she has ideas.

She's terrible at interpersonal dynamics, she thinks would be the polite and pretty way of saying that she's developed some interesting and complicated feelings about one of her people. And god, it's so easy to accept that he _is_ hers, and has been for so long. Over the past few years she's been working with and around him, Flynn has proved himself to be a lot of things; patient and protective were not traits she expected, but she appreciates them more than she has words for. She's not sure how any of that happened, how it became normal to stay up too late with him talking about things that matter and things that don't and then falling asleep in that chair that's just barely big enough for a person her size to curl up in a ball on and being completely okay when he's the first thing she sees when she wakes up, but that routine has become the best thing in her life.

If she had any sense, she'd just do that. Keep what little distance she ever does, because it's safe and she's not sure what to do with the vague thoughts of wanting physical affection from that man. But she's in a mood, and she has felt alone for so long, and-

Really, it's not the _first_ time she's collapsed against him as soon as the door closes, but that's not a part of the normal routine and she feels his senses heighten as his body instinctively wraps around hers.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just want this."

She's not sure he believes her - not sure why he _should_ , honestly. In the past, every time she's gotten clingy has been because she's been in bad headspace, and bonus points for one or both of them being in bad physical condition too. This is more innocent, and made terrifying by that detail.

"Do I need to be worried?"

"Would you listen if I say no?"

He doesn't answer, just stays perfectly still with his hands in safe places on the middle of her back. It occurs to her, after a little while, that she fits _perfectly_. She's thought about this detail before, those times on missions when they've moved fluidly together like one mind split into two bodies, but this too is different in their own time with no immediate threat to avoid and no new injuries to be mindful of. She feels small, and safe, and-

Okay, apparently this is enough to make her start crying. And that feels okay, somehow, as she rests her head against his chest and doesn't worry at all about the possibility that he might not want a wet spot on his shirt and-

Her options are limited. She's used that justification for months now. The bizarreness of their circumstances is the _only_ reason she noticed him like this. In another world, in the normal life she still wishes she'd gotten to have, their paths never would've crossed and she would've found…

No. She wouldn't have found anything like this. The safety and warmth she feels right now… she could've gotten close to that, she'd like to think, but the tone of it is so completely _him_ and it is in that moment that she decides she's actually fallen for him.

Look at that. Lucy has spent her entire life being _good_ and playing by every rule she can find and still gets nervous when she has to improvise on a mission because she is _terrified_ of screwing up, and now she's gone and gotten herself attached to someone whose methods are so different from hers but whose heart is good underneath all the scar tissue and-

She pushes herself up on tiptoe and presses her lips to his cheek for a moment, because she has to do something to say what she doesn't trust her words to do yet, and retreats right back to where she is. She's not ready to express all of this through her body yet, but-

"It's alright. I've got you."

She knows he does. She knows, has known for a long time, that he is hers whenever she's ready. And she's getting closer, not there yet but slow steps forward, and-

"I know."


	33. i want to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said when you were the happiest we ever were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this owes a bit to ["debriefing"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15070298/chapters/34938842) by OldShrewsburyian. By accident, but I do worry I mimicked a little more than I wanted, so... no harm meant, and the accidental inspo fic is so much better.

It's over. It's finally over, even the administrative fallout that took even longer than Lucy - the least experienced of the core team in unnecessary paperwork inflicted by someone who enjoys watching other people squirm, and thus the most overwhelmed by it - expected. With everything documented in triplicate, all alterations and casualties recounted by everyone who knows they happened, the team is now free to do…

She's not sure what _she's_ going to do, as she stands outside the gates of the military complex in suburban Virginia where she's been stuck for the past… shit, she doesn't even know how long it's been, that's how exhausting the whole process was. Weeks, definitely. She's not totally sure what day it is, but she's used to that kind of disorientation.

What she does know, what she was told as she was handed her bag of personal possessions and told she is a free woman, is that she was one of two whose "processing" - the cute word they used for the whole debriefing slash interrogation parade - took so long. The others got out earlier, which is not at all vague and unhelpful information, but she is one of two who are allowed to rejoin civilization today. And somehow, she's pretty sure she knows who the other one is. So she waits.

If there's only one other member of the team who took as long as her, it stands to reason it'd be the person who's never met an authority figure he didn't try to out-talk. Not to mention, y'know, the inconsistent documentation of roles. Frankly, she's amazed they're letting Flynn attempt to be a human being again at all period, and she's a little curious how that happened, but she _knows_ that's what was meant.

Someone has to wait for him, she tells herself as she sits down on the ground - in full view of multiple security cameras, she would like to point out - and rummages around in her bag for a sweater because it's colder outside than she expected and she is still used to a home that is now not home at all. She's pretty sure thirty-six is on the young end for a midlife crisis, but after all she's been through, she's more than due for one. What form that takes remains to be seen, but having worked through all the clichés over the past few years, she supposes she'll have to get creative. Maybe do something fabulously reckless with some of the money she's got coming to her - apparently three years of hazard pay for however they're describing her role, plus a few other little incidentals she didn't quite catch but knows are in there somewhere, is quite a bit more than she thought. Enough that she could restart, and she will, and-

She feels more than sees him. That's been the routine for some time now, as their lives have adapted around each other and she has become more and more comfortable with the beautiful unknown thing that lies between them, but she still has a few moments to compose herself before a hand is offered out to her. She takes it, keeps the connection even once she's on her feet and uses her free hand to brush some dirt off the back of her skirt. (Ah yes, back to extremely sensible and not-all-that-comfortable outfits at all times. There are a few things about modern life she _didn't_ miss.)

"You didn't have to-"

"I did," she says before he can finish whatever self-deprecating comment he is obviously thinking. "I wanted to make sure… I wanted to keep you."

It sounds a bit narcissistic and possessive once the words come out, but she knows what she's dealing with and she watches him respond accordingly. A few moments of overwhelm, fear and panic and want, and then perfect composure because she is the only person he tries for anymore and-

"Thank you."

"I don't know what I'm doing," she continues, because she needs to talk to keep herself from doing something else reckless with her mouth. "I apparently have a house to clean out, and I'll get there, but first I want… I want to breathe. I want to find out what I missed and I want to not _have_ to do anything for a little while, a week or two, I don't know, and I want… I want to do that with you. I don't think I'd survive being alone after everything."

There have been moments she's seen him this shocked before. That night she decided she was going to lie down next to him because so help her, she was freezing and he was warm and there was just barely enough space for both of them on that mattress. The time she kissed him, completely sober and in their own timeline, because she wanted to know what it felt like. Every single goddamned time she's said anything that implied he was an actual human being with valid emotions and motivations. But this here, this here is all of that at a louder volume and it breaks her heart a bit and-

"I'd like that," he breathes.

"We'll figure it out. I want to."

She decides this is an appropriate moment to push herself up on tiptoe and put her mouth on his, and so she does. He tastes different than she remembers, like the home she didn't think she had, and perhaps her restart has a pulse and that's good and right and-

"What now?"

"Right now… if I heard right, there's a bus stop two blocks that way. We can figure out DC public transportation, and everything else from there."

He lets go of her hand just long enough to grab her bag off the ground - it's lighter than it looks, mostly clothing, but she still appreciates the gesture. "Lead the way."


	34. the first to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "the baby... it's yours".

She doesn't notice for a while.

In the chaos of piecing her life together again, of being able to _have_ a life, the state of her body is relatively low on Lucy Preston's list of priorities. It never has been unless she's bleeding somewhere she shouldn't be, but somehow it slips even lower in the several weeks after she reenters the civilian world and learns to live alone in a linear timeline. She's busy with therapy, vague attempts at doing things normal people her age do, and accepting the fact that her job - at least for the forseeable future - consists of cleaning out her mother's house. There is a _lot_ of stuff there, and apparently there's a storage unit of papers and effects, and Lucy accepts that her hiatus from teaching might last a year or so longer than previously expected.

And then she gets what feels a hell of a lot like the flu, except she's never been this nauseous this consistently, and she decides to see a doctor about it because she _can_ do that now, and it all comes crashing down.

There's paperwork. There is a shit-ton of paperwork. Lucy, who has not seen a legit medical professional in about three years if one doesn't count the physical examination at the start of her debriefing (and she really doesn't), has to check off a lot more boxes than she expects. No, she did not get a damned flu shot, but she's pretty sure she's immune to the Plague so that's cool. She probably qualifies for a PTSD diagnosis, but she has no desire to chase that rabbit - there's already more than enough mental-health echoes in her documentation. Is she pregnant…

Oh. God. That's actually a really good question, and sitting there in a mint-green waiting room, it occurs to her that there's a frighteningly obvious explanation for her current state of being.

She doesn't remember all the details of the night after everyone was released into the wild, so to speak. She remembers she drank too much, one last time for the road, and she remembers pushing herself up on tiptoe and kissing Flynn because he seemed far too tense and she'd wanted to for the past year but the timing was never right before, and she remembers the heartbeat of shock and then he reciprocated beautifully, and she thinks they went off somewhere after that, and she felt a certain exhaustion when she woke up alone in her own bed the morning after that she's had in the past after taking a new lover, and…

Ah yes. Pregnant due to an impulsive alcohol-fueled one night stand with a close friend she can't admit she has feelings for. She's fifteen if not twenty years too old for this shit to be cute, but it makes way too much sense and she knows she didn't have sex with anyone _else_ at any point that would explain this (or at any point in the last two years for that matter), and… shit.

She checks boxes accordingly, pees on a stick, and gets confirmation ten minutes later. She is eight weeks pregnant, the timing lines up all too well, the nausea she's been trying and failing to live with is actually morning sickness, and she needs to contemplate her options very quickly.

What she does, as soon as she's out of the clinic, is send what she hopes is an appropriately panicked text and decide that this needs to be discussed in person with the other human being responsible for her current situation.

She'll keep it, she knows that much. Lucy has never had particular feelings one way or another about having kids, but there is a part of her that can see this as a satisfying fuck-you against her bloodline. She changed sides and survived, and she buries that even deeper by crossing her genetic material with that of the greatest threat that long line of assholes ever encountered. And she'd be a decent mother, and she can figure out a support system as she needs to, and-

"What's wrong?"

She is reminded, as she stands on his doorstep and tries to figure out the best way to ruin his life, that they haven't actually seen each other since the incident that led to where they are right now. Fact is, she hasn't felt like seeing _anyone_ , and Flynn has the social inclinations of the average housecat and she doubted he'd want to just come over and hang out or whatever, and it's more a timing issue than anything else, but-

"We should probably have this conversation inside," Lucy says. "And you might want to sit down."

"You could just tell me. Whatever it is."

He wants raw honesty, he's gonna live to regret that. "I'm pregnant. And it's yours."

"You're pregnant," he repeats, and she can see the wheels turning in his mind and the shock starting to set in. "And it's… mine?"

"Yeah. The night after… I know enough of what I did. The timing lines up. I'm not… I'm not asking for anything. Just thought you should be the first person to know."

Instead of the biting comment she expects, he wraps his arms around her, and perhaps this is worse. The warmth of him, against how small she feels, is worse. She is overwhelmed, and she cannot ask for anything but she _wants_ and-

"We'll figure this out," he murmurs. "You and I. If you want."

"You're not freaking out. Should I be worried?"

"One of us at a time, Lucy."

"Like we handled nightmares at the bottom of the world."

She pushes herself up and kisses his cheek, because she figures she's allowed to do that if they're going to attempt some kind of co-parenting and maybe even a proper relationship in the near-ish future, and then drops back down and clings. She can do this now. She's not sure _how_ , but she can.

"You don't have to be involved," she says, because she feels like she ought to. "If it's too much."

"I want to do what I can. If you'll let me."

She has. She will. She always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty darn proud of myself for writing pregnancy fic that didn't break me. Just sayin'.


	35. trust me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

She has bruises afterwards.

It's such a silly little thing, a harmless enough consequence that Lucy doesn't think about it until she takes a shower the day after and notices some undesired colors on her hips and thighs. Not bad enough to get in the way of her life, just a few little marks that she supposes are a natural side effect of getting physically involved with someone who is, for lack of a better overall term, a lot _more_ than she is.

Flynn is gentle enough, yes, but he's also about twice her size and a lot stronger. Tiny mistakes have been known to happen in such situations, a little too much pressure in places she didn't want but wasn't thinking about at the time because everything else was so good. Lucy has endured worse and more intentional things from past lovers and been okay, and she thinks nothing of it, forgets the marks are even there once she gets dressed and gets on with her day. There's no point in making an issue out of it. There was no intent, she's accident-prone enough that she's not _completely_ sure the recently acquired bruises are because of her sexual behavior, and she could tolerate worse for this man.

The marks linger for a couple days, as such things do. Lucy is pale enough that everything she does seems to leave an echo on her skin, accident-prone enough that she _does_ do a lot, and at least she can explain _those_. The current cluster of bruises on her lower legs… she has no idea what she crashed into, there are too many options to count. On some level, she enjoys having a map of the ways she's been a person, and-

Her partner, it turns out, does not enjoy this. Her partner, when they make the same set of choices three days later and there are still faded imprints that glow too bright under shitty fluorescent lights, has a far different reaction.

They've known each other for long enough that none of this is surprising. For all the headaches he causes for those less experienced, Flynn is frighteningly predictable, often in ways that contributed to the current state of things. Lucy is not at all surprised when he recoils, and she stays right where she is on the mattress and decides she's going to watch this spiral play out. She probably can't stop it, so she might as well.

"I… are those…"

He'd better know damn well what happened, and she makes eye contact but stays silent. That's enough of an answer.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, in full panic now. "I didn't mean to."

"I know," she replies. This is not an ideal conversation for how exposed she is right now, but nor is it a low point for her. She's full-on yelled at people while naked before; this is, at least, something that could turn out sweet if she appropriately wrangles her partner's anxiety.

"I didn't mean to… I would never want to…"

"I know."

Screw it, he's on the other side of the room and she doubts he's going to separate himself from the concrete wall he's currently leaning against for support so she's gonna have to cross that distance. And she does, and she hopes she can salvage _something_ , and she knows how vulnerable and visible she is and she is unafraid.

"If I thought you'd try to hurt me, I wouldn't have let this happen," she says, reaching for his hands when she's close enough and entwining their fingers. "If I thought this would end badly, I wouldn't have had sex with you or kissed you or anything we've done. I trust you, Garcia. And you have _seen_ me. This isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me. If I was bothered, I would've said something. And I didn't. Do you trust me?"

He nods. It's more of a reaction than she realistically expected.

"I am _fine_. And not, y'know, girl fine. Actual genuinely fine. If I wasn't, I would tell you."

She lets go, walks away, and starts putting her clothes back on. Her desire for physical involvement is nonexistent right now, and this room is unfortunately cold and she'd like to not get frostbite indoors. They can talk just fine when she's decent again, and that buys both of them time.

"Do you trust me?" she asks again as she pulls her sweater over her head.

"Yes."

"I did not feel that. I did not notice until the next time I looked at my body. You are good to me, and I do want you. Not right now, I guess, but… again. When we can. Is that okay?"

"Yes."

She approaches again and falls against him, and his arms wrap around her so perfectly, and she decides in that moment that they're okay.

"If that happens again… please tell me, Lucy. I want to know those things. Not see them and get worried. That would be easier."

"I can do that."


	36. in these arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts - "go back to sleep" + "it doesn't bother me".

She wakes up in the middle of the night and finds his body tense and his eyes fixated on her. She wishes she were more surprised.

They've been doing this thing, this description-less black hole of an evolving dynamic, for a couple weeks now. Long enough that Lucy is accepting that maybe she won't fuck this one up as thoroughly as she has everyone else who's ever tried to love her, and long enough that several years of observing quirks - a detail she would deny if anyone were to try to call her out on it - has started to become useful. They were friends before they became lovers, she reminds herself in the few heartbeats she has to process a situation she's less than thrilled about at what feels like three in the morning, and she trusts Flynn even in the more confusing moments. He is kind to her, he is surprisingly gentle, he is-

"What's wrong?"

And the spell is broken, in this sacred space they occupy, and the glass falls around her.

"Does something _have_ to be wrong?" she counters. She's not awake enough for this, she'll justify, but she's every bit as grouchy whenever he gets protective of her no matter the time of day or her mental state. It's still so strange, having someone who values her safety so much, and-

"You were sound asleep and then you weren't. That is a bit worrying, Lucy."

How the hell was he married for eleven years, she wonders offhandedly. He couldn't have been this bad, back when… oh, she knew what she was getting into, falling into bed with someone whose last relationship ended so tragic, but she feels a sharp sympathy for her deceased predecessor, who must've had the patience of several saints at once. Lucy is no such angel, and at some point and at a more civilized hour they're going to have a _talk_ about this bullshit. She had assumed, six months ago when they slipped into something loosely resembling a normal albeit slightly codependent friendship, that that was the extent of how his paranoias might project onto her. Apparently it gets worse, and she is now living with that. Lucky her.

"It's nothing," she murmurs, and she really does mean it and she hopes he doesn't assume she's just girl-lying and-

"You could tell me if-"

"I know." Be calm, she tells herself. Do not freak out. Do not make this situation more complicated, in the unlikely event that's even _possible_. "I have in the past. You know that."

"Yes, but… I want you to feel safe, Lucy."

"I would be safer if you'd calm down once in a while," she mutters without thinking.

She can't see his reaction in the almost-total darkness, but she feels it well enough. He holds her that much closer, and she is reminded of times they've talked about how important she is, and she never believed that fully dressed with better lighting but she believes it vividly now. In these arms, with words unsaid between them, she understands.

"I… I know I go too far, sometimes," he says after a few moments. "And I do forget that you don't…"

"It doesn't bother me that much. I know _why_ you do it. And maybe I need to calm down too." She's not sure she believes all of that, but she knows it's what he wants to hear and she can _try_ and it's worth a shot. She hopes, she-

He kisses the top of her head and gives her what little space she had back. It's enough of an answer.

"Go back to sleep," he murmurs. "I'm here if…"

"You should try to sleep too. I know I didn't wake you up."

"Once I know you're alright."

They've been entwined long enough that she knows what he means is he'll be just as awake in a few hours, and she's known him long enough that she knows she's the only person who'll see through it. Flynn has a real talent for false fronts, good enough that the rest of the team has no idea which of his hells are self-inflicted. Even Lucy can't always tell with some of it, but the unusual level of functionality while sleep-deprived is pretty easy to notice if one knows what to look for. And she does, and she worries too, and-

"I'll wake you up if something actually bad happens," she murmurs as she closes her eyes again. "Is that enough?"

"I'll be here."


	37. what i can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said with the tv on mute.

She falls asleep on him, apparently.

Not that Lucy is aware of doing this at the time, exactly. What she is aware of is that whatever movie they're sorta not watching - this week the only channel they can get on TV seems to be playing nothing but the worst of 80s action movies, which is not a good genre to begin with - is really boring, and she is perhaps a little too close to her companion, and it is all too easy to rest her head on his shoulder and collapse and feel a week or so of exhaustion work through her. And she knows this is okay, because it happens frequently enough and still feels comfortable. Flynn is surprisingly okay with her newfound personal space issues, and she is…

He's warm, and her eyes close, and she knows she's okay.

It's a pleasant nap, and she wakes up a while later - her sense of time is not the greatest when she's curled up on a ball on a far-too-secondhand couch - in roughly the same position she remembers being in, which is nice. Sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes, if it's late or too soon after a mission, she'll wake up in her bed instead, wrapped in more blankets than she would use if she had any say in the matter. She hasn't bothered to ask how anyone else feels about the semi-regular sight of Flynn carrying her unconscious body across the safehouse, but judging by the fact that he's still alive, she supposes there's been some explaining. She doesn't mind that either, doesn't mind any of this, and she feels like she should, and-

"I tried changing the channel," he says as he processes that she's lucid enough to talk to again. "It's either this or professional bass fishing."

"Professional bass fishing is a thing?" Lucy enjoys her sheltered intellectual background, thank you very much, and is not sure what a bass is beyond apparently it's a fish and it must be the off season for any sport involving a ball. By comparison, at least bad action movies originally released when she was six have a lot of explosions.

"This is marginally better."

"We could turn it off. Find something else to do."

She knows they won't. There is nothing else _to_ do in this space, which is why the two of them have taken up residence on the couch here just like they did at the last safehouse and the bunker before that. It's either watch shitty TV or do research, and lately they've been flying blind and nothing either of them has read has been helpful in a _while_. There's no predicting where they'll end up next, so might as well rest while they can.

"It's less obnoxious without sound," he murmurs. "Not by much, but it's something."

"Thanks. For…"

She could finish that sentence so many ways. For letting her take a catnap partially on top of him, as she's done on about a weekly basis for long enough to become a comfortable routine. For being gentle with her and letting her take the time she needs to process herself before moving any further in this hesitant thing developing between them. For being kind when she doesn't deserve it. For being _him_. For everything, really.

"I know last night was… not good for you. I'm doing what I can."

"It means more than you realize," and she knows that sounds heartbreakingly cliché but it's still true. He gets her on a level she doesn't know was possible, and sometimes that still isn't enough. Sometimes…

"Want to find out if a televised fishing tournament makes more sense on mute?"

And he knows when to change the subject before she breaks down, and she loves him that much more for it.

"Only one way to find out…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews are love and you can leave me prompts either here or on tumblr [@electricbluebutterflies](https://electricbluebutterflies.tumblr.com).


	38. sleeping alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - “There is enough room for both of us.”

On the one hand, she's sore and freezing and this stupid armchair has never felt less comfortable. On the other hand, sleeping alone in her own room - in the glorified closet that holds her small number of worldly possessions, Lucy corrects herself, because she hasn't actually _slept_ in there for the past couple weeks - is unappealing. This is not at all the worst crisis she's had at godawful-AM, but she sees no obvious solutions, and…

Well, there is _one_ other option, but it's risky on so many levels. But if it works, much more appealing than the more obvious choices. Worth a shot.

She knows Flynn isn't asleep yet, because _she_ isn't asleep and he's developed a slightly annoying habit of waiting up with her. Not to mention, y'know, the bingo card of trauma that means unpleasant visuals every time his eyes close. It's enough that she notices, enough that she worries in silence and has discovered she can be every bit as paranoid as her friend and partner is on his worst days. One of those things she _would_ fix, if she could, but she's out of ideas.

Maybe he's lonely too, she tries to convince herself as she uncurls from her current position and crosses the small room. Maybe he needs human touch as much as she does.

"Something wrong?" he asks as she sits down on the edge of the bed, testing her limits and finding that she is allowed this intrusion of space. He's not panicking _yet_ , that seems like a good sign, but-

"I have an idea." She hopes the darkness of the space hides the blush she feels blossoming all over her face, hopes the silence doesn't reflect her racing heartbeat. "That chair… is not comfortable. At all."

"I know."

She is reminded of a few times, before she decided to take up space, when she found him passed out in the damn thing. At least _she_ fits. He did not, limbs sticking everywhere. And at least _she_ has had someone else attentive enough to help her create a blanket nest, which she would like to point out she did not ask for, but-

"I think… I think we could both be more comfortable… together. There's enough room for both of us on this bed. If that would be okay."

"I don't want to hurt you, Lucy."

"You won't."

She appreciates his gentleness and how it has blossomed as they've gotten closer, but there's a time and a place and this isn't it. She has trusted him enough to practically move in, and there is very little that could go wrong curled up around each other that wasn't just as plausible with her in the chair. Worst case scenario… oh, she _has_ no worst case scenario, and-

"I'm not sure this will work."

"You of all people are aware how small I am," she mutters, losing patience. "Can you move a little closer to the wall?"

He complies, she feels the mattress shift, and yeah, this will work. It'll be close, but that's kinda the point. To feel a little less alone, to feel safe.

Satisfied, she maneuvers her body into the empty space, wrapping herself around him as she can. He responds without words, slipping an arm beneath her and resting his hand on her waist, and she cannot remember the last time she felt this wanted, and-

She starts crying. She can't help it. She forces herself to be quiet, but they're so close and she worries it is too much and-

"You're safe, Lucy. Nothing can hurt you here."

She knows he means to comfort her, and it's genuine and sweet, but that makes it _worse_. Because she knows he doesn't believe it - he'll die trying, better death than more scars on his heart, but he's made those promises before and it wasn't enough and _he_ wasn't enough and-

"That's kinda the problem. I'm not used to this."

"Nor am I."

He is warm, she reminds herself over and over as she tries to stay quiet and not say things she shouldn't. He is warm and will keep her safe, _has_ kept her safe so many times, and yet… right now that's not what she's asking for. She was in perfectly fine headspace before she decided it was time to take a step forward, and now look at her. A mess, curled up around someone who doesn't deserve her, and-

"Tell me if I've done something wrong," he murmurs.

"Can you let me be a little overwhelmed? I'll say if it's more than that, okay?"

She takes his silence as a yes, and that is enough.

She stays awake a while longer, taking careful note of everything currently around her. The feeling of another human body so close, and her heart breaks a little as she reminds herself that she is not the only one who finds this tragically unfamiliar. She wonders, dares not ask, if it compromises him as much as it does her. She wonders…

They shift closer to each other, moving as one without words, and she decides she would like this to become part of the routine. She's spent too long sleeping alone. About time she went and changed that.


	39. slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - things you said with too many miles between us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first REAL au for them, I guess?? Idk. I tried.

She posts new episodes Sunday evenings, so her audience can listen on their weekday commute, and checks the podcast email on Friday afternoons. Lucy has been doing this for a year and a half now, her routine practiced to keep her outlet where she wants it. She'll check social media during the week as she feels it, but what few actual messages she gets wait until her work week is over.

Most weeks, there'll be a couple emails from high school students using one of her episodes as a source for a project and maybe one conspiracy theorist depending on her content. Nothing particularly stressful. She's not trying to become a public figure, she's just passionate and hopeful that someone listening will feel the same. Out of a few hundred listeners, _one_ of them has to, right?

The week Lucy does an episode about the later life and antics of Alice Roosevelt Longworth - as the estranged daughter of a legendary professor slash author slash all-around nightmarish act to follow, Lucy tries to do one episode per month about a historical woman who could relate - she gets an anomaly. Or perhaps a miracle, she's not sure which. A few very well thought out comments, sent to her on Thursday night, by someone who is neither asking her to repeat her sources nor questioning her sanity (or making her question theirs). The sort of comments that _could_ have been left on the Facebook page she tries and fails to update on some kind of regular basis, except much more coherent than that angle usually is.

She spends a little longer than she should crafting a reply, and a lot of it comes down to a slightly more tactful version of "who the hell are you and where have you been all my life?". Hopefully with more emphasis on the first part, but whatever.

For the record, Lucy does the podcast for her own amusement. She is not attempting to network, she is not attempting to advance her career, and she is _not_ trying to get laid. She… is not sure why anyone ever assumes the last option, honestly. She has good people skills, as a college history professor is required to, but she does not interact with people any more than she has to. The last time she tried to date anyone was a hilarious-in-hindsight trash fire of a situation, she has approximately two and a half friends, and for the most part she is content with that. But god, sometimes she gets so lonely and-

The next week, her episode is on the Jimmy Carter rabbit incident because she's never had a reason to discuss it in any class she's taught (not for lack of trying) and she could do worse than spend a few hours learning about swamp rabbits. It's supposed to be a fun episode, and on some level it's bait to see if her person - and oh it is way too easy to think of them as such - responds.

This time, the email apparently comes on Wednesday. Again, tactful and relevant and non-intrusive. She could get used to this.

The routine continues over the next few months, despite Lucy's best efforts to sabotage it. She broadens her range, does episodes about things she thinks are fascinating with no regard for whether her listeners will enjoy it, and her person is pleasantly surprised by this and her numbers don't _drop_ so at least there's that. She avoids asking any personal questions, but begins to piece together a few details about her correspondent - definitely works in a related field but not close enough to hers that she's ever met them at a conference or something, probably on her side of the world, probably a different background than hers, and probably clinging to every bit of human contact they can. This last part is the furthest reach, she realizes, but she wonders and-

About a week after she has that idea, she screws up and tells someone. Worse, she tells Jiya.

How Lucy ended up close friends with the younger woman, she has no idea at this point. They used to be neighbors but aren't anymore, yet somehow the connection stayed good enough for monthly-ish conversations about their respective love lives - Jiya is wondering if she should propose to her boyfriend because she is a modern woman and also getting rather impatient, whereas Lucy has given up. Except she kinda hasn't, and-

"You're an idiot," Jiya says before Lucy can even finish explaining why she's managed to go and develop the tiniest bit of a crush on someone she knows literally nothing about..

"In what way?"

"Show me one of the messages and give me five minutes."

Lucy is smart enough to know that her friend is about to do something both complicated and damningly obvious, so she complies. And sure enough, it doesn't take long for Jiya to look up the email address and, by extension, the person attached to it.

"Well, this could've turned out worse."

Said person turns out to be one Garcia Flynn, who has a shocking lack of online presence for someone who works at a university-based museum in DC. The main things Jiya digs up are an "about our staff" page that seems several years out of date but at least connects the email address to a human being, and an obituary for a wife and daughter posted shortly after that. An actual person whose limited public life lines up with the impressions Lucy's spent months on, and yet-

"So what do I do with this?"

"Have you ever considered asking this guy why he latched onto you? Because if I were you…"

Jiya has a point. As always.

The next week, when the email shows up just as she knows it will, Lucy has a plan. Well, more like a pre-written response, because she's spent four days trying to debug her anxiety, but whatever. Details. Point is, she's pretty confident.

_Why me?_

Two little word. She doesn't expect anything. And yet an hour later…

_Because I admire the fact that you do this out of love._

Yep. She's got a crush. Bring on the slow burn, she decides. She can't get in _that_ much trouble from three thousand miles away.

 _I was reconsidering my format. But talking to you made me decide to stay put_.

Slow, she tells herself. She can do this slow. Figure out her odds and go from there and-

_That might be the strangest compliment I've ever gotten. I will treasure it._


	40. new normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "what happened back there?"

In the grand scheme of things, getting stabbed does not bother him as much as it probably should. A knife to the upper arm isn't even the worst thing that's happened to Flynn this month, and that is also something that ought to be problematic, but… point is, he's not bothered by the sight of his own blood, and he does manage to do some damage in return and get the hell out of there, and he knows this wound is not going to dramatically screw up his life. Stitches and bandages, he'll be _fine_.

He forgets, in the time it takes to rejoin the rest of the team, that certain other people have a somewhat different view of his physical and mental stability. A detail that becomes dramatically apparent as he gets close enough to the Lifeboat that the main person with said issue can see he's not in the best condition. Wonderful.

Because what he _really_ needs right now is tiny panicked girlfriend. That might actually be worse than getting stabbed.

He adores her, he really does. Lucy was the only light he had in a series of dark places, and as they've developed together she's somehow become even more than that. She's beautiful and fierce and stubborn and complicated and for a while he worried that her kindness was only due to a lack of options, but his insecurities about their dynamic have gotten quieter lately. Not gone, not yet, but-

"Do I get to yell at you when we get home?" she asks, skipping formalities.

"Will my permission change what you do?"

"So, in a couple days."

The jump is just bad enough to irritate the wound, and he is very tempted to retreat somewhere and deal with everything himself. It's not his dominant arm, thank goodness, and he's done DIY stitches before, but… he has someone now, and he's unsurprised when Lucy follows him off. Usually their situation is the reverse, usually she's the one who's gone on an adventure and suffered the consequences because she's just accident-prone enough and usually impaired by a unfortunate wardrobe requirement on top of that, and he's not totally sure if he trusts her with a needle in his skin but-

"What happened back there?" she asks once the door is closed and she goes for the first-aid kit.

"What does it look like?"

"Do you want an actual answer, or do you want painkillers before I go there?"

"Whatever you feel like."

"After. Okay. C'mon. Layers off."

The wound, once his body is stripped down from the waist up, does not look as bad as it feels. Bleeding, yes, but not as deep as he'd thought. But yes, his inclination about stitches is probably correct, and-

"You don't have to look," she tells him as she prepares supplies.

"Have you ever done this before? I'm going to look."

"I could go get someone else if-"

"No. I trust you."

Hurts like hell, but she does okay. Won't make things _worse_ , which is the whole point, and she's much more capable of doing a decent bandage. It's likely a practice issue, and she'll learn if this keeps happening, and-

"So why did you get stabbed this time?"

This should not feel like the normal conversation it is, Flynn thinks. None of this should be normal, and yet.

"Good question. I was expecting to get punched, but I'm not sure the guy could reach."

"You're an idiot," Lucy mutters, but she kisses him anyways and he supposes he's forgiven.

"It wasn't intentional!"

"Never is. Any other damage I should know about?"

"Not that I can feel."

"So you don't actually know. Okay."

Someday, he thinks, someday she'll get over this protectiveness. But then again, she probably thinks the same thing about him.

New normal. They'll learn.

"Bruises are nothing. I'm fine."

"I will believe that when I see it in a couple days."

"Fair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 more left. So help me, I am GOING to finish out this compilation this month...


	41. tether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Never Again

He loves her, and he is undone.

He knows how this ends, how every beautiful thing he sees is destroyed by his want. The self-loathing is more muted now than it was a year ago, now that he's getting consistent validation and only has one set of enemies, but Flynn is still aware of what cards he has been dealt. It was hard enough for him to risk himself fifteen years ago, a version of himself that still believed in things and both wanted and expected to live a long and eventually quiet life. Then all of that got thoroughly blown to hell, and now…

Lucy is asleep in his bed. Lucy, who only seems tiny and cute when she's not fully present in this world, who crashed into him hours ago and decided to stay afterwards because she's made a nest in his spaces for months now and she saw no reason to leave in spite of crossed lines. Oh, he loves her too much.

He watches her, cannot bear to touch her right now. She is so perfect, taking up more space than someone her size ought to be able to, and he supposes that parallels the way she takes up more and more space in his heart. This was not supposed to happen, and yet it was inevitable from the moment their opposite selves crossed timelines, and he _knew_ from that familiarity that this fate was ahead of him, and yet-

It is so tempting to walk away, to the extent that he even can. They could fall apart amicably enough, he could make it perfectly clear that it's for her own safety, and they could piece together… maybe not quite a friendship, that would still be too close, but a ghost of a something out of these ashes. For her safety, he would make that abundantly clear, and to be revisited again if they both somehow survive this war. After, he thinks, in the unlikely event that he is still standing and free in five years, the risk might be minimal enough. There will be no more wars for him after this one, he's starting to realize. He's thrown himself into every conflict he can find since he was old enough to handle a weapon, and his body is starting to show the signs. No more combat once this blows over, he's no old lion, he is-

Lucy's head peeks up from under the blankets. Oh god. Now he's going to have to explain himself _without_ the several hours of pacing and planning and minor nervous breakdown he was planning to use to his advantage.

"Get over here," she says, voice sharp in its softness. "You haven't slept in about a week, and I can be smaller."

"Three days," he corrects, though he's lost track at this point. He pushes himself for days at a time until he crashes, and he thinks he still has more time before that happens, and-

"Still too long."

She's not _wrong_ , and he's too tired to fight back. "Alright. You win."

He gives her a few moments to move onto her side of the mattress - and they've done this enough, more innocently, that the side closer to the wall is starting to smell like her - before lying down beside her. They are an exercise in contrasts, his sharp edges and her softness, his darkness and her light. Yet they fit effortlessly, as he turns himself into a shield because he would _love_ to watch something try to get her right now, and-

No. No, he cannot think that. There's too much risk as it is, the two of them too entwined, and-

"Stay with me, Garcia."

She only uses his first name when she's trying to tether him, and that should probably irritate him more than it does. If anything, it's comforting. She knows, has learned without asking, how to bring him down to earth.

He loves her too much. It'll ruin both of them.

"I'm here," he murmurs, kissing her forehead. "I'm here, Lucy."

"Little more space so I can breathe?"

He obliges, giving her an extra inch, still holding her too close because he is so scared of how many ways this could go wrong, and-

"Stay with me," she repeats. "Stay here with me."

His mind is in too many places at once, but his body is here with her and his heart, he realizes… his heart has been with her for much longer than he could ever sensibly admit.

Tethered. What a beautiful thing.

"I'm here. As long as you want me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo the frenzy ended up not happening because outside life did... ah well. Still working on it, y'all.


	42. not too forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
> 
> Second part to ["slow"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955140/chapters/43227869) aka the podcast AU.

Proof that God is dead and/or hell is real, as far as Lucy is concerned - the summer conference that is usually the highlight of her year, that she _dreams_ about presenting at in ten years or so and that she uses as the closest thing she gets to a legitimate vacation, is in DC this year. The final week of July, in a city created out of a not-as-drained-as-they-thought swamp. She's gonna die.

Like, yes, she will be hiding in an air-conditioned hotel convention center as much as possible, but she will still have to go outside in the worst humidity in the country at a few points. Transportation reasons, because she didn't book a hotel room quickly enough and is thus stuck at a different hotel half a mile away, close enough that she objectively _should_ walk. And if she decides to get food at any point, which is traditionally an _if_ because she tends to get super distracted on this trip and not think about basic human needs. And if she decides to do any exploring, which she will because she's giving herself a few days to see what sights there are.

And if, maybe, she tries to get her love life in order. Maybe.

As soon as she's done having her freakout about triple-digit wet heat, which is objectively so much worse than northern California and she will _not_ calm down about this for the four months until the event blows over, it occurs to her that it may be a convenient situation for other reasons. She does have connections out that way, she supposes is a delicate enough way of putting it, and there are much worse things she could do than suggest that maybe meeting up for drinks when they are conveniently and innocently in the same area might be fun. She thinks. She's not sure she can actually do this, but-

To her great surprise, that situation has blossomed into something she supposes might count as a friendship. She hasn't attempted to label it, but Flynn - he started signing his emails with his last name after she figured out who he was, and it fits a lot better than anything else she could call him - is no longer just a potential professional connection or the only sane person in the world who's taken an active interest in her side project. They talk about things that aren't her podcast topics now, via their respective personal emails, as timing and mood align. They're not quite at a point of talking traumas yet, but she hopes they'll get there within the next decade, and-

_When's the conference?_

He could easily look it up - she did say which one, it's not like she's being _secretive_ or anything - but she appreciates his respectful distance. And then tells him, because obviously that is relevant information.

 _I was thinking we could get drinks or something,_ she adds, hoping that's not too forward or-

_Or, if it's not too forward… I could pick you up at the airport? I know you're an extremely competent person, but you don't want to drive around here, and public transportation is confusing, and…_

Lucy gives herself two days to think about it. She has time, she tells herself. There's no dramatic pressure.

Like, he's probably not _wrong_ , she hates that kind of driving and public transportation is a no-go for her claustrophobia after a cross-country flight and she's still not over that one really weird Uber a couple months ago, and she has thrown herself out of a moving vehicle before - exactly once, she would like to point out, at the tail of a very bad date during undergrad - and there is no part of her that thinks this is a genuinely bad idea. It's just a lot to ask from someone she barely knows who has other responsibilities and probably doesn't even like her that much and-

Except she's not asking. He's volunteering. She has four months to accept the difference.

_Sounds good. I'll send you my flight details when I know them._

Four months pass more quickly than they feel, and then all of a sudden it all happens.

Lucy hates a lot of things, she is learning in what she supposes counts as early middle age. Cross-country air travel is top-ten material, in the cheap seats between a couple who she suspects are going to call a divorce lawyer once they get wherever they're going. That mess killed any chance of sleeping on the flight, not that that was particularly likely to begin with, and she knows she's not going to be great company, and she's pretty sure she _hates_ this airport, and if they fucked with her luggage she's gonna kill someone, and-

She is not sure what protocol is for approaching someone one has seen a grand total of four pictures of but who might just be one's closest friend by default, but she decides on running as fast as she can in these stupid strappy sandals that were _not_ as practical as she'd thought when she bought them. Physical pain will complete the hot-mess, she decides. At least she's wearing a dress, and her hair isn't a total wreck (at least not however much of it has decided to stay in a ponytail), and oh god she hasn't been this nervous in years and-

"Lucy, right?"

They've been writing to each other for a year and she was not expecting that accent, but she decides she likes it.

"Yeah. Nice to meet you. Please tell me you're parked close."

"No such luck, but we can move as slowly as you need."

In person, Garcia Flynn is more than she expected. Impossibly tall and built like a tree, intimidating to passers-by but warm with her, mindful enough to ask without words before carrying her suitcase. She doesn't remember feeling this inherently safe around another person, and her crush is going to be impossible to ignore after this but she's not sure she minds. Conversation flows even more easily than she'd hoped, and by the time they finally reach his car - she is convinced he parked as far as possible while still being on airport property, not that she's going to say that out loud - she feels like she's known him so much longer.

"If it's not too forward… if you're not too tired, I'd like to take you out for dinner somewhere. You can say no if you want, but-"

Lucy cannot remember the last time she was this tired, but she also wants to spend as much time with this man as possible. "Dinner sounds good."

"Any preferences?"

"None at all. Surprise me."


	43. the storm (right in this moment)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Brontide - The low rumbling of distant thunder.

She can't sleep. The ghosts in her head are bad enough most of the time, but tonight they are joined by something physical in the air. It'll rain soon, it feels like, and she doesn't want to be alone, and-

She doesn't want to be alone. Because that ended _so_ well last time.

And yet, at one in the morning and far too sober for this kind of objectively bad judgment call, Lucy slips out of her bedroom and walks down the hallway and hopes that this time will not end quite so badly.

It can't realistically end _worse_ , she thinks as she knocks on the door. As much as she hates herself for even thinking it, she's pretty sure Flynn's wife and daughter are going to stay dead. And she has a lot of faith in him as a person, and she's not exactly about to proposition him, she wouldn't say no if it seemed possible but-

Mostly, she wants the warmth of a human being who doesn't feel like the liquor did, or the knife she kept under her mattress when she was younger, or all the regretted lovers. She wonders what it might be like to find a safe place with a pulse, and she hopes she could have that here, and-

He's wide awake as he opens the door and lets her in. They don't need words for this part - they've been seeking each other out at weird hours for months now, perhaps taking slight advantage of respective personal issues but it works. Whatever they are, as two people drawn towards each other by something they don't understand… there's an acceptance in it, at this point. Comfort in each other's spaces and presence.

Lucy can't remember having that with anyone else, and it weighs heavy on her heart as she sits down on the edge of the bed because that's where she always ends up. The fact that she feels better here, in the middle of the night behind a closed door opposite a man who she has known for the past year would do whatever she asks - and has, repeatedly, often before she gets around to asking - than she ever has anywhere else.

He would not hurt her. He would not find her wanting. She could use that too easily. She could cross the distance and kiss him and take from him whatever she wanted and he would let her and no harm would be done.

But she's sick of using people, and she doesn't know how to do these things like normal people or what normal even is in this kind of a situation, and-

"What's wrong?"

His voice pierces her bubble and she realizes she's crying. Not bad _yet_ , but still more evidence that she is comfortable here. If this happened in front of anyone else…

"Nothing," she replies, well aware it's the wrong answer.

She doesn't want to have this conversation, okay? One of the things she loves about Flynn - the only thing she will admit to loving about that man, at this point - is that he sees through her. Sometimes this tendency results in a lot of yelling because he goes and does something that shows he's a few steps ahead of her and she's just not into it. Other times, like right now, it's extremely useful.

Again. Useful. She has always been too practical with her heart and body, always making the logical choice, always finding someone who will numb whatever it is that she's avoiding.

He does not make her numb. If anything, he makes everything more intense. All the emotions she doesn't want, all the pain she tries to ignore, everything. She ought to run like hell, but she feels paralyzed right now and-

"You could just tell me," he says in that way where he's a little annoyed with her stubbornness but not inclined to make his emotions her problem. Which is another thing he does that she appreciates, the fact that he is for the most part able to keep his emotional bullshit where it belongs and has never once dragged her into it without valid reasons, and oh her standards for male decency are probably too low but-

"I use people," she mutters. "And right now I am absolutely terrified that you are one of those people."

He crosses the space and sits down next to her, which is probably a sign that things are about to get a lot worse in some way. For the most part they keep perfect physical distance on these weird nights. She sits on the far end of the bed, he takes up too much space in the chair on the other side of the room, there is no risk of anything going awry. But apparently tonight is enough of a situation that he needs to be close to her, and it's overwhelming, and she is so tempted to just rest her head on his shoulder, and…

It has been a _while_ since she's had innocent physical contact with anyone. It has likely been several years longer for him. Would there be any harm in being held? In some innocent midpoint of a connection?

Yes, she tells herself, yes there would be. Because it wouldn't _stay_ innocent, because they have been like magnets for so long, because one spark would set the whole world on fire, because-

"You are not using me, Lucy."

"Prove it."

He makes a sound that is not quite a sigh and reaches out to her, entwining their hands. "I don't think… we both get things out of… this. And you haven't asked for anything."

"But I _could_. I think about it."

"But you haven't. And I trust your judgment. If you need anything I can give, what little that is… I trust you."

She is well aware of the weight in those words, not just the opened door but the broader implications. Flynn has done the lone-wolf thing for a long time, likely in some form his entire life. And she did, admittedly by accident and without knowing until it happened, dramatically screw him over the last time he got as far as admitting some kind of attachment to her. There must be some part of him that's scared of a repeat, and yet he tries anyways, and-

"What are you getting out of this right now?" she asks, because she's curious. "Right in this moment."

"Right now… the storm is getting closer, and that means a long night for me. Having you here is something better I can focus on."

"Do you… do you want me to stay tonight? Would that make things easier?"

"Yes. If you want to."

"I do."

They stay there in silence for a while, not needing anything more. At some point she starts tracing little patterns on his hand, at first looking for scars but continuing as she realizes it makes him calm. She suspected he was even more touch-starved than she is, but the reality of that is more than she expected, and-

The storm gets closer, thunder and lightning loud enough that Lucy suspects everyone else in the safehouse is awake for it as well, and she feels more than sees her partner's reaction. He has fought in too many wars, more than enough that loud noises of any kind are an issue, and she realizes what he meant about her being a distraction, and-

"I'm here," she breathes. "Focus on me. I'm here with you."

Ah, what the hell. She turns her body and kisses his cheek and is not pushed away, and that in turn is her permission to properly kiss him. Slow, distracting, cautious want. He is every bit as gentle as she would've hoped, different with her than the rest of the world, responsive but allowing her to lead.

They will draw the line here, with her in his arms. The door has been opened and perhaps in weeks to come they will blossom, but this is no time for such exploration. They are both too compromised, too vulnerable, too…

She stays close until the storm dies down, close until she feels him calm down, close until he kisses her forehead with some kind of reverence.

"I'm not sure you staying is a good idea," he murmurs against her skin.

"I can keep my hands to myself," she counters. "And I don't want to be alone tonight either."


	44. here with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt (scenario by modern-lady-trickster on tumblr) - Early in S2, Lucy is kidnapped briefly. The team gets her back, and she says she’s fine, but she’s working with Flynn when he hears her crying. Flynn goes to check on her, and what he finds reveals that she’s not so unaffected by her captivity as she said.
> 
> Modified a little so it works between 2x05 and 2x06.

He feels like a caged animal.

No. Fuck that. Less than. Caged animals generally get to do more than this. Caged animals generally have some kind of purpose. Flynn does not. The only reason he is stuck in an underground hellhole with only _one_ thoroughly locked door and occasionally considered useful enough to go on jumps, as opposed to whatever blacksite prison he was previously in, is because he has just a little bit of leverage and because Lucy Preston is probably the only person in all of time and space who does not hate him. Frankly, from his perspective, the feeling is probably mutual. A future version of her saved his life once, and the current version of her did it again, and he's not dumb enough to let that go.

They did so good in Salem, but then she got stabbed - in the arm, at least, not mortally wounded and a fucking oversight in the mess that ended up happening - and she's sidelined, and then…

He's not sure how to explain what happened while he was stuck in wherever-the-fuck, other than he's alive. Somehow. Bruised and tired, and would be pleasantly surprised if he's allowed time to lick his wounds, but likely to be okay in a few days.

First, now that it appears everyone else has retreated to their respective sleeping areas, making sure he's not wrongly estimating anything. He's been here about a week, long enough to know that the bathroom is safest at about two in the morning. He could do the process just as easily in his room - he has _thoughts_ about that, a cot and a chair shoved into a supply closet because it's not like anyone wants anything to do with him - but it'd be easier with a mirror to catch what his eyes won't, and-

The door is unlocked, but there seems to be a weird noise coming from somewhere. Probably dysfunctional 1950s apocalypse-bunker plumbing issues. He wonders if there's a protocol for what would happen if the bunker got flooded, and if anyone would bother to tell him or if they'd just let him drown, and-

Oh. Oh god no.

The noise is human and, because the universe is determined to screw Flynn over at _every_ possible opportunity, coming from the only person he might be able to handle emotions from right now. Lucy is curled up in a ball on the floor between the sinks, somewhere between crying and a panic attack, making tragic puppy noises and oh, this is not how he wanted to be reminded that he does in fact still have a heart.

He cares about her. He can admit that much. And he cannot abide anything bad happening to her, and he will tear apart whomever hurt her (especially if he's right about the likely cause), and-

She looks up, and it's even more heartbreaking now. Her eyes are red and puffy under harsh fluorescent light, and the rest of her expression is, for lack of a better word, hopeless. This is a new side of her, one he has no desire to encounter again. He's used to fire, a version of her that pushed through her fear to be strong against him. A broken shell of a woman, on the other hand…

"Who do I need to kill?" he asks after a long silence, because he will absolutely destroy whomever did this to her, he will make it painful, he will-

"My mother," Lucy murmurs, keeping her eyes on him.

Not quite what he expected, but after recent events, well… he can't blame her. He is learning that the woman he fights alongside is much more complex than the journal prepared him for, but there were a few comments in there about family dynamics, and… fuck, she almost got executed due to that particular dysfunctional nightmare, and that doesn't seem to be all that surprising to anyone involved. Which should definitely be more disturbing to _him_ than it is, and he's not evengonna try to justify that one.

It occurs to him that he might be in over his head and about to do something fabulously stupid even by his standards. Being anywhere near Lucy at any point tends to result in that; being near her when she's in this condition in the middle of the night is a parade of red flags and he decides he's going to ignore _all_ of them. He wants to protect her. That's the first positive thing he's felt in years. What's the harm in seeing where that leads?

"What happened? I'm assuming it was more than…"

"Did anyone bother to tell you what happened to me after… after everything?"

"Beyond a few horrifying implications, no."

Lucy forces herself to stand up, bracing against one of the sinks. "Kidnapped and attempted brainwashing, mostly by my mother. I was going to kill myself to get away. I fucked _that_ up too."

And there is her fire, directed inwards and made terrifying. He wants to take it from her, would allow himself to become even more of a monster if it meant that she _wasn't_ , wants-

"Are you alright right now?"

"I think I've hit the limit of how much I can cry."

"That's not an answer."

"Do you realized you're the only person who's _asked_? You're the only person in my life who has even _considered_ that maybe I'm not okay, and I'm not sure how I feel about that but I know I'm not surprised. No one else pays attention. You…"

He is struck by the urge to cross the distance between them and hold her close until her body stops shaking. He won't do it, can't assume so much just yet, but he wants to. She would fit well against him, safe, and oh he will not make the mistakes of his past again, he will do better, he will-

"I am yours," he says, and perhaps it's overkill but that doesn't make it any less true. "And I will…"

"I'll get out of your way," she says just a little too quickly, in a way that frightens him for reasons he can't pin down.

"Or you could stay, if you wanted. An extra set of eyes might be helpful."

Lucy gives him a Look, and it occurs to him that on some level he genuinely likes this woman. "Do I wanna know?"

"Looking for cuts and bruises I can't feel. Presumably easier with another person."

He expects her to say no. He expects her to point out that this is a rather bizarre situation, and he is well aware that he ought to have better ways of distracting her, but it is the middle of the night and he feels like roadkill and-

"I'm not a good field medic," she murmurs. "Just… trust me. You do not want me if something's actually wrong."

"Understood. You don't have to…"

"I highly doubt I'll have a flashback like this. I want to."

"Thank you. For everything."

She's quiet for a few moments, wide-eyed, fingers gripping the sink too tightly. "I ruined your life."

"You remind me that I _am_ alive, Lucy. I had lost sight of that. I hope… I hope I can do the same for you."

"Good luck," she mutters. "So, um…"

His eyes dart around the room, searching for another way forward and finding nothing. Hell with this, he thinks, pulling his sweater over his head. He's still got a t-shirt under that, but voluntarily undressing in front of another person in any way is… not something he's done in a while. There's a vulnerability to it, a self-consciousness he doesn't expect until it hits. He can feel her eyes on him, searching not just for recent damage but for anything she can find.

He should run. This is all a very terrible idea. And yet he feels rooted to the concrete beneath him, which he no longer trusts to hold his body upright.

She crosses the space between them. "Can I touch you?"

Flynn nods, not trusting his voice to behave.

Her fingers are cold as she reaches out and starts tracing scars. There are some interesting ones, some old enough that he can't remember their origin, and he decides that someday - if she were to want it, he steadies himself, if that were safe - he would like for her to see the rest. His body is a map of a past he is never sure how to fight, and-

"I'm pretty sure you're fine," she murmurs. "Just tense. Have you… have you slept at all, since you've been here?"

"Not well. Not completely convinced no one will try to murder me."

"They'd have to go through me first," she says, and the look on her face is almost happy, and it breaks his heart a little bit more, and-

"No. No they wouldn't. I wouldn't let… you are safe here with me."

Her hand slips down his arm and their fingers intertwine, and again he thinks about futures and how beautifully she tethers him.

"Thank you for not making me feel worse," she breathes.

"If there's anything else I can do…"

"Stay here with me a little while longer?"

He does.


	45. close enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Flynn breaks down silently and Lucy is desperate to comfort him

She admires him, this man she's starting to realize she loves. She admires his resilience, his determination so much more now that they're on the same side, his protectiveness that would be _terrifying_ if it wasn't so familiar - and still is on occasion, if Lucy is honest with herself, but she is learning the intent behind it. She has been determined to see as much light in him as possible for a while now, and as they drift closer she has learned more and more things she worries no one else sees.

Most of it is easy to pin down as good. The determination, on the other hand…

Flynn has been one of her primary headaches for going on three years now. The reasons have evolved, but the annoyance remains. And this afternoon is no exception.

He's doing that _thing_ again, that thing that happens sometimes when they're both hiding in his room for mixed purposes. Usually all of this happens late at night, and is made easier to deal with by that factor, but today Lucy figured she could do research just as easily with a little less background noise than elsewhere, and…

It would be fine, she thinks from her perch on the bed because that has been clearly defined as _her_ space whenever she wanders down the hallway, if he were talking. But he is not. He is sprawled in the chair, eyes closed and too tense, lost in some kind of flashback.

She should leave him be. He's not _her_ , dammit. He might not respond so well to another human being doing this side of anything about what is clearly a deeply personal crisis.

But on the other hand, she cannot stand back and watch all of this happen to someone who has gotten her through so many bad nights, who has taken bullets for her and not even been an asshole about it afterwards, and who has had more faith in her than she knew another human being _could_. He's been through far too much alone, and she's here, and she could-

She puts her book aside and crosses the distance. She can do this. She's not sure what she's doing, but she can do it. Probably.

"Hey. I'm here. It's okay. You can-"

He shakes his head, eyes still closed. Whatever's going on in there, it's bad. Worse than that nightmare he had that one time, and she's still not sure what language those swear words were in. Worse than-

"You're not alone. If you want to talk, I'm here."

Still no response. It's times like these that she wishes she felt better about touching him. That's been a decidedly one-sided problem lately - she's collapsed in his arms a few times, enough to become comfortable with that development, and that's nothing on some of the maneuvering that happens on missions. But she's scared to initiate, scared that she might push too far, scared of so many things and-

What scares her most, she might as well admit it now, is the likelihood she'll become one more tragedy for him. She knows she has objectively better survival odds, but what if she's wrong? She doesn't want to cause pain if something bad happens to her, and she's still this side of useless most of the time and she knows that's _possible_ , and-

"Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Please."

One-word answers. They're making progress. She can do this.

She rests one hand on his shoulder and worries that alone is too much. Her body is shaking, and she just might fall, and if this is how she feels about something so innocent then they are probably _never_ going to make out let alone all the other things she sometimes daydreams about, and-

Other hand over his heart. This is good. She feels him respond, a little less tense as her fingers gently curl around the fabric of his sweater. She has no delusions about her abilities in this scenario, but she means well and she hopes that's enough, she hopes-

"I'm here," she says again. As many times as it takes.

"You don't have to be."

Flynn's eyes open, and oh this is worse. There is so much pain made all too visible, and she knows in this moment that she's the first person he's allowed to get close enough to see any of it. She's known for a while now - since their paths crossed, if she ever dares to admit it - but he hides it all so well under layers of hostility and, now that she's gotten close enough to know for fact that he actually does like her, refocusing on anyone who isn't him.

He's always so attentive with her, so willing to focus on whatever her problems are. He takes care of her so easily. She wonders offhandedly if that might be a coping mechanism, at least on some level. Not primary motivation, god no, but part of the picture.

"I _want_ to be here with you," she says.

"Why? I'm not… I am useless to you, like this."

She rolls her eyes. "Do I look like I need anything?"

He shakes his head but doesn't look convinced.

"It's easier for me to focus on things here than anywhere else," she sighs. "And I like being able to talk to you, but I can actually function on my own. I just don't want to. I'm not sure where the line is, but I'm there. I promise."

His hand covers hers, over his heart. "Thank you."

"Don't… don't do that."

"Hmm?"

Lucy takes a deep breath and wonders if she's about to ruin the most consistently good thing currently in her life.

"You fucking panic every time I treat you like a _person_. And I know there are reasons for that, and this is weird for me too, but it's exhausting sometimes."

"You don't have to-"

"I am well aware of what I am doing to myself. And I can deal. You are a good man and it is mostly not your fault that shit like this happens, and I can wait it out. But it still scares me sometimes."

"Do what you need to. I don't want to weigh you down."

"You don't get it," she mutters, shaking her head. "You really don't get it."

And on impulse, and because she can, she kisses him.

She's thought about this little action for months now, as they've drifted steadily towards each other. She has wondered what he might taste like, what he would let her do. There has never been any question of which of them would lead, and there is not now, as his free hand tangles in her hair. She doesn't think she's ever been this in-control with a would-be lover, and-

Oh, it would be easy to take from him. It would be easy to let her hands wander and let their bodies collide, and she has no doubt he'd allow her to do whatever she wanted right now. But he is too vulnerable, and she is not that kind of person, and she cannot destroy him like that.

Someday, when they are both made whole, but not here and now.

"You don't owe me that either," he breathes against her lips.

"That might be the first time I've ever kissed someone for the hell of it," she counters. "Which is kinda terrifying now that I'm saying it out loud, but… yeah. I don't have a good baseline here."

"I'd like to think I'm better than at least _some_ of your choices…"

There, there is the just-slightly-playful snark that means he's coming back to himself. She did something right, somewhere in there.

"You might be a lot better," she says, because there's no harm in giving him something to be proud of. "I'd like to find out, down the line."

"Not now. I can't… not now."

"I wasn't thinking now. Few weeks, few months, when it happens. No rush on my side."

"Alright."

"Is it okay if I go back over there now?"

"If you want to."

She takes that as a yes and walks away, still focused on him. "If you want to talk, I'm here," she says as she repositions herself on the bed.

"Understood."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey we're getting close to my cutoff point. Just a few more ficlets to go and then onto the next compilation!!
> 
> As always, reviews are love. <3


	46. one of these days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "you have a nice voice".

He cannot call this thing love.

Admiration, absolutely. Lucy is so much more than she realizes, to the point where he is too often frustrated by the obliviousness of everyone else around them. How does the rest of the world not see how brightly she glows, how strong and capable and brilliant she is? And she is beautiful on top of that, in a way that feels almost incidental and yet at the same time overwhelming, and that too goes unnoticed. And above that layer she is kind to him, perhaps a gentleness out of desperation but more than he is used to from anyone else, and he has yet to find words that adequately express how much he appreciates her presence in his life.

But it is not love. In part because four little letters cannot describe something so powerful, and in part because Flynn cannot damn this incredible woman with any sort of attachment to him. It is not love.

It is, however, transforming every fragment of him. Giving him reasons to move forward, to reclaim his humanity. He owes so much to her, and someday he will express that.

But not today. Today she has made a nest for herself in a battered armchair in a corner of his room, as she does more and more frequently, and what started out with a question about weaponry - because she does still know his strengths and scars, and it is easier to talk about wars he has yet to fight in - has turned into a mostly-unrelated rambling anecdote about suburban bliss and one very stubborn raccoon.

Flynn hasn't talked about that part of his past, anything that occurred alongside the wife and daughter now long lost to him, in months. They exist in the background of this petty vendetta, present yet not enough to be mentioned, and it's oddly comforting. A good memory, a year before the bad things, and-

"You have a nice voice," Lucy says, bringing him out of his haze.

She does things like that sometimes, little offhand compliments for no apparent reason. At first he thought she was playing some kind of reaction game, seeing if she could break him, but as they've gotten closer he's accepted that she's genuine and a little bit awkward. This here, he questions. He's amazed she can understand a damn thing he's said - control is harder when emotions are high, and he's had years of not-nice comments about his accent, but-

Right now he can't say anything at all. This is as strange a time as any for her kindness, and yet the exact right time. Impossible to get lost in memories of a distant past when his future is currently wide-eyed and looking at him like _that_ and-

"I didn't mean to set you off," she murmurs. "Or whatever I apparently did."

"No. You're fine."

"I am not _fine_. You look like you're about to cry, and I caused that, and-"

He wants to cross the space between them and gather her up in his arms and tell her that none of this is remotely her fault and if anything she has been the one ray of light he has had in the last four years, but he is motionless and adrift and-

She crosses the distance, emerges from her cocoon like the butterfly she is and stands opposite him and reaches for his hands.

He lets her entwine their fingers and it's like he's noticing for the first time how _small_ she is. Sure, he's noticed at other points - when maneuvering her on missions, as necessary and with great appreciation for the fact that she is half his size, and those few nights she's fallen asleep in his spaces - but never in direct relation to him, never like this. Fragile woman and yet she is the stronger of them right now. He does not deserve any of this, and yet-

"You have good timing," he breathes.

"I guess? I try."

"You do."

He cannot call it love, not just yet. But he looks at her, the worry in her face that he wishes he could take away, and he thinks they might get there one of these days.

He untangles one hand from hers and reaches up to push stray hair out of her face, figuring that is acceptable touch right now. She responds by turning a pleasant shade of pink.

"I really do like listening to you," she murmurs, voice shaking for no apparent reason. "I think… we talk about _me_ a lot, and things that happen on missions, but… I'd like to know more about you too. If you want to talk, sometime."

He has no desire to burden her with the details of what has been a chaotic life, but who the hell is he to say no.

"I'd like that too."


End file.
